Your fingers leave hot trails where you caressed my body.
As your naughty companion, the cool night breeze follows the track.
You dive deeper into the flood, which welcomes you eagerly.
And so excited, through the presence of three elements,
I take the fourth — your solid earthiness — home.


@AC Benus thank you very much for your support. 🙂

Tanka about a good question

My dear friend AC Benus wrote this wonderful Tanka,
which I felt the need to translate into German.


Ivy, blackberry
and fennel grow by the road,
Asking as I pass
Why man can’t even grow up
Rooted next to his own kind.

© AC Benus

Efeu, Fenchel und
Brombeeren stehen traulich,
Fragen mich im Chor,
Während ich sie passiere:
Reift der Mensch nie einmütig?

translation ©GedichtArt

AC Benus amazing work you can find here

Birthday present

Turning 43 today, I received a very special birthday present this morning. I was meeting some of my new students, which start school first grade next week. We talked a little and I asked, what games they like to play, and they showed me a marble run, they had built and after this we played a ball game. One of the little boys showed me how he could calculate the numbers of the game already. He is a very sweet clever one.

After a while he asked: And what kind of games do you like most? Building marble runs or Math?

My answer: My favorite is teaching Math with marble runs.

You can not teach Math with marble runs., he looked at me clearly doubting my words.

Of course I can. We can count the marbles, can measure the track or measure the time, the marbles need. This is all Math.

We shared a conspiratorial smile, and he whispered: I assume, you do a lot of nonsense.

No, I am not doing any nonsense. I am doing science, but it maybe makes the impression of nonsense, sometimes.

Suddenly I didn’t felt 43 anymore.

We agreed to meet again on Thursday, to try to build the longest marble run along all three floors of the staircase.






My life`s love poem

Warm wind caresses the leaves. They stand out black against the red glow of the setting sun. Their rustle interweaves with the waves of the surf, which are heading towards the shore. It seems as if they are in a hurry to return home. We watch the last colors of the day, yellow, orange, flaming red, passing into the violet-blue coolness of  night – the desired and welcome.

We sit next to each other in silence. Our hands are intertwined, like the sound of the wind and the waves. You look at me and ask: “Could it be any better?” I answer: “Recite a love poem.” The teasing of my words makes you smile at our joint inability to romanticize, and so you simply reply: “I don’t know any love poems.”

Your eyes rest on me for a while, and a smile plays around your features.

You already know, you don’t have to recite a love poem, perform a grand romantic  gesture, or sing about the moon and loneliness when we are separated .

Here with you
Your hand in mine, your smile 
in all tides, in ebb and flow,
in every roaring storm and in every silence
is a home; an always-present promise,
my life`s love poem. 

Das Liebesgedicht meines Lebens

Warmer Wind streicht durch die Blätter, die sich schwarz gegen das rote Leuchten der untergehenden Sonne abzeichnen. Ihr Rauschen verwebt sich mit der Brandung der Wellen, die dem Ufer entgegenstreben, als hätten sie es eilig heimzukehren.

Wir beobachten die letzten Farben des Tages, Gelb, Orange, flammendes Rot gehen über in die violett-blaue Kühle der Nacht – der ersehnten und willkommenen.

Schweigend sitzen wir nebeneinander, die Hände ineinander verflochten, so wie das Rauschen des Windes und der Wellen.

Du siehst mich an und fragst: „Könnte es noch schöner sein?“

Ich antworte: „Rezitiere ein Liebesgedicht.“

Grinsend reagierst du auf den Schalk in meinen Worten, musst lächeln über unser beider Unfähigkeit zur Romantik und entgegnest schlicht: „Ich kennen kein Liebesgedicht.“

Deine Augen ruhen auf mir und ein Lächeln umspielt deine Züge. Du musst kein Liebesgedicht kennen Liebster, keine romantische große Geste vollbringen, nicht den Mond besingen und nicht die Einsamkeit, wenn wir getrennt sind.

Hier mit Dir
Deine Hand in meiner, dein Lächeln auf mir
in allen Gezeiten, in Ebbe und Flut,
in jedem Sturm und in jedem Schweigen
ist ein Zuhause, ein Versprechen immer dar,
ist das Liebesgedicht meines Lebens.



A day in June

I got inspired for this Haibun from the impressive work of AC Benus dedicated to the Stonewall anniversary. You can find this very touching poetry here .

Thank you AC for your work, your help and support. Muha

A day in June

Two days ago we visited a little town in the middle of nowhere. Driving through rolling hills with green meadows, dark forests and deep blue lakes glistening in the sunshine, we felt a certain solitude that makes you peaceful and quiet. Finally, we arrived. This town nestles itself on an island, and at the edge of two lakes. Dark-green and blue colors determine its surroundings. When we walked through the lines of pastel houses, with their roses and hollyhocks growing on the front sides, the impression of a village taking a collective siesta crossed my mind. Then we came to the piazza, the city center, and all emotions of solitude vanished. A proud rainbow flag was flapping in the wind, and tiny versions decorated the place as well. Suddenly, there was music and a little boat crossed the lake, taking course to the harbor next to the place. The side was painted with Pride colors, and celebrating people were on deck. I was mesmerized by the view and would never have expected it here. But yet, there it was. We enjoyed a few hours in this wonderful atmosphere.


    wind caresses

   the rainbow flag

   giving the place its






Buildings from different ages belong to this town. You can travel through time by walking the lanes. And so my mind is wandering. Once, around 5,000 women were imprisoned here. A mere plaque is a reminder of their fate a few hundred meters from the plaza. They were forced to march here from Ravensbrück, tormented and starving, to work for their torturers in an ordnance factory. And even though they were broken and maltreated, they found the strength in themselves and their sisterhood to protect a baby born among them, which survived and helped install the memorial. (1)

But lots of women didn’t make it, and some of them, even though they didn’t wear the pink triangle, were imprisoned for their love of other women — antisocial they were called and marked criminal, degenerated.(2)

Because, how could a woman possess her own desire not depending on a man´s lust? How can she dare to not follow a woman‘s first duty.

And from very far away I can hear one of their voices:

„I wanted to live long enough to kiss a woman.“ (3)
Not anyone I will allow to deny our love,
Standing proud next to her holding her hand.
„I wanted to live long enough to kiss a woman.“
Feeling our hearts beating fast and faster from joy
together, combined, sharing life and love and time,
„I wanted to live long enough to kiss a woman.“
Not anyone I will allow to deny our love.


Now I am standing here, in the sunshine under the light-blue sky on the shore of the dark-violet lake and emerald forests, at a place between red and orange houses. The rainbow has obviously always been here, as it should be.

And then, beneath the flag, I see two ladies kissing.

„I wanted to live long enough to kiss a woman.“
Not anyone I will allow to deny our love.

To this day, the suffering of the lesbian victims of the Nazi regime gets diminished. I recently read about an initiative to place a terracotta sphere with an engraving to commemorate the lesbian women and girls at Ravensbrück. It got denied.
Denied, because although it is proven women had been denounced as lesbians and imprisoned for this circumstance, the Nazi system gave them a non-gay label, and in the current bigotry the commission, still marks them in that way.

The sphere will remain in the gay museum in Berlin as long as it takes to fight until it gets installed, where it belongs. (4)

„I wanted to live long enough to kiss a woman.“
Not anyone I will allow to deny our love.







(1) https://www.nordkurier.de/mueritz/erster-schritt-fuer-neuen-gedenkort-gemacht-1833761911.html

(2) https://www.tagesspiegel.de/gesellschaft/queerspiegel/lesben-im-nationalsozialismus-ich-wollte-nicht-sterben-bevor-ich-eine-frau-gekuesst-habe/20603344.html

(3) From an interview with a female survivor of Nazi impronisment conducted by Joan Nestle. Title: A Queer World — The Center of Lesbian and Gay Studies Reader, edited by Martin Duberman, New York University Press 1997, P. 267



This is the love`s…

I made an other translation of a short poem from Schiller, I stumbled about yesterday. The poem belongs to Schiller`s tragedi “Die Braut von Messina”

Das ist der Liebe…

Das ist der Liebe heil’ger Götterstrahl,
der in die Seele schlägt und trifft und zündet,
wenn sich Verwandtes zu Verwandtem findet;
Da ist kein Widerstand und keine Wahl;
Es löst der Mensch nicht, was der Himmel bindet.


This is the love`s…

This is the love god’s sacred ray,
Aiming at the soul, striking and igniting
When it finds one of your own kind.
There is no resistance and no choice;
No human can dissolve what heaven binds.

translation by GedichtArt

Thank you AC Benus for giving it a little finish.