No Borders at All

Tristan Ludwig

Mannheim, Germany

 

Hallo, hallo, where do you belong, where, where?
No place inside Germany’s borders
No place inside borders at all
No, beyond them
Beyond what is supposed to be thought
Beyond old houses and suburban buildings and armchairs
The snow may look like ash
But if so, then still new and fresh
Covering everything, but no, what was covered, disappeared
I am at home where you no longer need to be at home
Where the imprint of my body in the snow stays undeformed
Wherever a snowball flies
Or at least in the place where we dare to speak about it
At least where everything has not yet melted and steams poisonously
I like flags for their fabric, and cities for their streets
But most of all I like the snow that covers them
Free, white, unbuilt-on areas
No borders at all

 

Tristan Ludwig (18)

is currently doing a voluntary social year at the Nationaltheater in Mannheim. He likes still water and thinks it is important for the ability to express feelings in art or music. He does not yet know what he would like to do later.

Beautiful Munich

Fanny Haimerl

Munich, Germany

 

How should I describe Munich?
How should I describe its splendour
to those who do not know it.
A place for beautiful people.

Envied by others.
That is Munich.

Where there is wealth.
Where people drive a Porsche.
Where people love themselves.
That is Munich.

A place I never have enough of.
Where I have my roots.
That is Munich.

Where the richest wonder who is the richest.
Where no price stops the greed.
That is Munich.

I miss your streets,
I miss your museums,
I miss your beer gardens,
where we went every summer.
I miss your nights,
which are warm and full of life.
That is Munich.

A city full of beauty.
A city full of light.
Where poverty is suppressed.
Where people close their eyes
to the misery.
Out of egoism.
Not out of fear.
That is Munich.

 

Fanny Haimerl (16)

would like to study literature and art history or documentary film after taking her Abitur school-leaving certificate. She lives in the centre of Munich with her brother and her parents. In her free time she often writes, draws and makes collages. She also likes to watch documentaries and listen to podcasts. But most of all she likes to travel, and when she is at home, she always longs for distant places.
This text relates to Rojin Namer’s Damascus.

Lie

Maya Taherpour Kalantari

Moers, Deutschland

 

“She looks so happy!”
“She´s always so confident!”
“I wish I was her …”

Everything you see of her is a lie.
The only one who knows the truth is she.

Put on a smile and everything will be okay.
Right?

 

Maya Taherpour Kalahari (15)

is living in a house with her mother and three brothers and sisters. For the future she does not have any firm plans yet, but she would like to travel the world. She likes to draw, dance and sing, but not many people know this, as she describes herself as being rather shy. Since her first Poetry Workshop she has also enjoyed writing her own texts.

Imagination

Johin Nüsse

Ueckermünde, Germany

 

Imagination creates mythical creatures
Mythical creatures create friends
Friends create family
Family creates generations
Generations create change
Change creates the world

The world creates war
So is war created in our imagination?

 

Johin Nüsse (17)

lives in Ueckermünde, right by the Stettiner Haff lagoon, and took part in a writing group of the Poetry Projects in Schloss Bröllin in March 2019.

Easy

Hussein Kasha

Aleppo, Syria

 

When I was little,
life was easy.
To get up in the morning
and have a nice day
with the family was simple.

When I grew older,
it was no longer easy.
The first time I saw my father crying,
I realised that life is not easy.

It was not easy
when I said goodbye to my little brother
and he said to me:
»Bring me some sweets
when you come back.«

It was not easy
to say goodbye to my second soul,
my twin sister.

It was not easy
to lose a member of the family,
without being able to do anything,
because you are more than 3000 kilometres away.

It is not easy
that it is easy.

 

Hussein Kasha (*2000)

arrived in Germany in September 2015 – after a month-long journey via Turkey, the Balkans and Austria with his uncle and aunt. He is now attending a specialist high school and would like to take his school-leaving certificate in the subject of Health. He shows his social commitment not only in promoting religious co-existence, but also works for the integration of other refugees in the context of the Sports for Refugees programme.

Sound of the Piano

Ahmad Al Rifai

Daraa, Syria

 

The smoke flees from my lung
like my soul.
The clock no longer ticks,
I have fallen into a dream.
I can see her at last.
The angel has died.
I can no longer distinguish
between illusion and reality.
She is missing from both.
There is no proof that she still exists.
I can see her face in the smoke.
And feel her kisses in my lung.
Rituals.
It hurts so much when she dances.
I wanted to keep her next to my heart,
in my lung.
This was Mephisto’s advice.
She is destroying me, she is trying to kill me.
She has taken shape in me as lung cancer.
This is the last gift.
A date with death.

 

Ahmad Al Rifai (21)

is a school pupil. He loves theatre and singing. He has taken the stage at various cultural venues as both an actor and a singer. He also likes to cook and read.

The Velvet World of Writing

Shahad Albayroudi

Hail, Saudi Arabia

 

I was so full of this feeling, this overpowering impression of not belonging to this velvet world of writing.
Until the moment when I saw myself and the others in my spirit.
I would never have thought I could find the words, phrase, create and then write them down so that they compensate for what I see and feel.

But then something happened, and the only way to process it,
to understand it, was to recognise it and let it out through writing.

It is terrible to be forced to wear a new mask every day.
It is terrible to have to see before you what you dream of every day,
but your hands fail to reach it.
It is terrible that you cannot do
what you dream of, but every other person can.
It is terrible that you have to wear this smile every second of the day,
so that no one sees the weakness and the pain
that have taken hold in your heart.
It is terrible to be forced to do
what they want you to do, until the moment when you forget
who you are, what your dreams are, all that you could achieve.

You are forced to do all of these things, but every day,
every minute, every second you feel the faults within you.
Then you achieve nothing at all, although everything would be so easy.
Your brain circles constantly around the same thoughts,
until you see your future, destroyed, before you,
and your self disappears.

 

Shahad Albayroudi (18)

comes from Hail in Saudi Arabia. For six months she has been in Leipzig with her father, who has been there for four years himself. At present she is taking a German course at level B1. Writing is her great passion.

I Remember

Anonymous author

Syria

 

I was ten years old. I remember the burning tears of my father. The sadness and fear. That dreadful night. I remember so much that I would like to spew my brain out, so that every memory disappears.

I was twelve years old. I remember my strength. How I could carry on living, even though there were no reasons for that. I remember as well as if I were a fifty-year-old woman in the body of a twelve-year-old.

I was fourteen years old. I remember feeling my heart for the first time. The shine of her wonderful eyes. Her fascinating laughter. I remember her words, which lit up my darkness.

I was fifteen years old. I remember my depression. My loneliness. The people who were closest to me, and enjoyed my burning wounds. I remember so well the circle in which I was imprisoned. Every path led me back to its gloomy centre, every path led me back to the point of zero.

I was sixteen years old. I remember her look in the crowd. I remember the warmth that I felt when I embraced her. I remember how she was my way out, my safety, my soul.

I was seventeen years old. I remember our secret meetings. I remember her laughter. The touch of her gentle hands. Every detail. I remember so well how I felt. My heart and my soul, which drowned with joy in that feeling without calling to be rescued.

I was eighteen years old. I remember my recurring depression. I remember her farewell after our last meeting. All of the feelings that lay in her kiss. I remember her sad eyes. The pain that bored through my body until part of my soul split off and flew to her. The moment when I boarded the plane and the song that played in my head in an endless loop. How I cried. How I was without hope. How my dreams disappeared. I remember how I saw the city from above and left a piece of my soul behind.

I am nineteen years old. My feelings are frozen without you. Now I have given up, have no more dreams, no hopes. I live without a goal, without feelings, from one minute to the next. It is hell.

 

Anonymous (18)

is from Syria, but lived in Saudi Arabia from her third year onwards. Since 2019 she has been in Leipzig, and is now taking a German course at level B1. Writing is her great passion and all that she can hold on to.

Untitled Rap

Shakush

Amman, Jordan

 

Sin Lam Alef Mim to all believers and unbelievers,
Hey guys, wake up from your eternal sleep!
Stop waging these thousand-year wars!
Hundreds of millions are homeless,
Hungry children, humiliated women,
They are dying because of all the religions and their temples.
I do not say that you should become an unbeliever,
I do not say that you should join a particular religion,
But wake up, and see them all as people!

The others look down on us:
Our judges are bribed, there is no justice.
When woman have sex before marriage, their reputation is ruined,
When men do the same, they are heroes.
People follow evil politicians, without thinking for themselves.
The only thing that still matters is waiting in front of embassies.
They all want to flee, nothing else,
Ideally on the next plane.
The schools must be restored, just like our rulers,
They think we are their slaves.
We are proud of our history and our scientists who died long ago
While the country is being torn into a thousand pieces.

Don’t be proud of your nation and where you come from,
Only being proud of your country does not make you better than others.
Do you agree?
Because if you do, don’t delay any longer, and start to change!

 

Shakush (25)

comes from Amman in Jordan and is studying in Germany. In his free time, he raps. Shakush is his stage name.

Separation

Katya Haji Ido

Alqush, Iraq

 

First day in Germany
With my mother
And my two little brothers
We were in a park
We were waiting
For my sister and my big brother

They never found us
Because a German called the police
As we had dirty clothes
And many wounds
From all the branches and thorns in the woods

 

Katya Haji Ido (18)

was born in 2001 in the town of Alqush, in Niniveh Province in northern Iraq. Today she lives in Cologne, and in April 2019 took part in a workshop of the Poetry Project with her brother.

Only Together

Armand Haji Ido

Alqush, Iraq

 

On the first day in Germany
I felt I was in the desert
For four days I was in prison
With only sand on the floor

To this day many people do not dare leave the house
Because the surroundings are not like their home
At the beginning I was left completely to myself
If you do not experience the loneliness of a foreign country
You do not know loneliness

When we arrived in Bulgaria
The police were waiting for us
Everyone was afraid of being arrested
And sent back

One woman fled and the police shot at her
She ran away out of fear and fell from a cliff
Because the woman was injured, we were not sent back

Some were arrested
Some fled
Cars came and took us

My mother said to me: run away
I said: I will not leave you alone

 

Armand Haji Ido (20)

was born in 1999 in the city of Alqush, in Niniveh Province in northern Iraq. Today he lives in Cologne, and in April 2019 took part in a workshop of the Poetry Project with his sister.

Parting

Jin Hamo

Afrin, Syria

 

I feel the fresh air
And breathe it in.
I look at the mountains
And nature
And breathe out.
My hair flies
And tears flow.
The day that I feared
Has arrived.
To leave everything,
To describe the feelings.
No words.
The beautiful moments
Stay in mind for ever.
We will meet,
I promise.
It will not be the same,
Perhaps even better.
But I am hopeful,
And I hope you are too.

 

Jinav Hamo (15)

fled to Germany with her family in 2017 and lives in Halle Neustadt. At present she is in year nine at school, and for the future wishes to carry on with artistic activities. Jin loves everything connected with creative expression: learning new languages, drawing, taking photographs, singing, dancing and meeting new people from other cultures.

Walls

Sarah Moles Lyall

Edinburgh, Scotland

 

In Berlin I discover borders
overcome, overturned, undermined.
As the ’89 woodpeckers knew,
walls cannot last forever
when people strive to be together.
In my German class dividing lines
between ‘expat’, ‘migrant’, ‘refugee’
disappear; in our mistakes
all are one. Together we sidestep
imperialism, colonialism, globalism
and find common ground in our
new common language.

 

Sarah Lyall (29)

is a social researcher who is enthused by citizen-led decision-making and concerned about social division. She moved to Berlin to learn German and understand social policy from a fresh perspective.

Poet out of Homesickness

Naseh Qutaish

Idlib, Syria

 

I have never in my life
written poems, but in my foreignness
my feeling is that I need it now.
Out of my homesickness I became a poet,
and separation from the people I love
has made me very sad.
Mother, father, brothers and sisters, I miss you.
I share memories and love only with you.
Oh God, the loneliness is unbearable
after such wonderful days with you.
Sometimes contentment prevails,
but usually it gives way to sadness
and to suffering, and I have to overcome myself anew
again and again.

 

Naseh Qutaish (27)

works as a lawyer. She loves bodybuilding and football, and is always pleased to make new acquaintances. If she had to decide for one style of music, it would probably be Arab music, because she is most familiar with this. Naseh’s favourite colour is white, because she associates this colour with peace and freedom.

To My Beloved

Ahmad Al Mohamad

Aleppo, Syria

 

In the city of dreams
Where people never sleep
One night that no days followed
I met a remarkable woman
Asked her
Who are you?
She answered
I am a woman without an address

I drank the wine and the sugar
Melted in our devotion
I asked
Shall we meet again after this feeling?
She looked at me and answered with shining eyes
Yes

She came to the meeting
In the climbing club
I said to her
I love you and I want you to be
My lady in the palace of rayon
She said
I am your angel from heaven
But not a woman for the public sphere
She smiled
I have a lover, but I am as free as a gazelle
My mind was absent for a moment
And everything melted away behind the walls

She said
It does not matter, life is as it is
I left with my head held high
Because she did not yet know the riders

 

Ahmad Al Mohamad (29)

came to Germany in 2015. He likes dancing and cooking, and alongside his work as an assistant dentist manages to go to a gym almost every day. At present he is improving his German and fighting for recognition of his degree in dentistry. Prejudices are what Ahmad annoys most. Apart from that, in Germany he values the freedom.

Unreachable as a Rainbow

Anonymous

Afghanistan

 

The big question: dream or aim?
Everyone says that dreams are out of reach.
I say that dreams do not even exist and have never existed.
The past, which was the future, has broken my heart.
It demanded all of my feelings, robbed me of my family and friends.
During a dream this freedom, which is a lie, exists.
Like a rainbow, visible but out of reach.
An ideal and perfect world that people
have built for themselves to flee from reality.

But I believe in something that is called an aim,
because it always fulfils my wishes.
I might reach a dead end and need a new plan.
I think of what could happen,
if people did not have any fear.
if they made their steps in life resound,
like the keys of a piano.
The only prisons in this world are the taboos in people’s heads.
Come, let us cross the borders.
Without fear of making mistakes.

 

Anonymous (23)

The author fled from Afghanistan by sea four years ago.

Secret Dreams

Hanna Riegenring

Berlin, Germany

 

Elisa, five,
dreams of peace,
that the world will stop making war
she no longer wants to lie awake every night.
If she could make the law
they would stop their daily firing.
She would help her mother
whose tears soak her T-shirt each night.
Where is her father, you would like to know?
For her, that was always far away.
She wants to conquer grief, fear and hunger,
but she always kept silent about all of that.

Betty, nine,
has it all.
Her fortune was to be born to a perfect family.
Her parent were able to give her everything,
clothes, dolls and, in their view, a perfect life.
She could have all that she desired,
but her wish for affection and love was always denied.
Each day her parents work long into the night,
and her constant companion is Hannes the dog.
Her pain rose higher and higher inside her
but she always kept silent about all of that.

Anna, ten,
wants most of all else to become an astronaut
to see the world from above
to get closer to her mother in heaven.
Simply to leave and disappear, as in a dream,
into the hazy blue depths, into space.
She would like to float on clouds, simply live free
and surrender herself to weightlessness.
She would like to chat to the tooth fairy,
and in-between zoom to the man in the moon,
to fly on unicorns,
but she always kept silent about all of that.

 

Hanna Riegenring (16)

lives in Berlin. At present she is cycling, running and swimming for a triathlon.

Cake for Everyone

Fabian Reuber

Berlin, Germany

 

Chocolate cake for me
Parrot cake for God
Apple strudel with custard for mum
Vanilla cake for dad
Lemon cake for my brother
Strawberry cake for grandma, my baka
Muffins for Helene Fischer
Apple and cinnamon cake for my school class
Pancakes with chocolate on holiday with my parents
Even the dough is chocolate

 

Fabian (17)

comes from Berlin, originally from Croatia. He does not let his handicap stop him from seeing the world on his travels. One day he might possibly have tried every kind of cake that there is.

Looking Back

Hassan Zir

Idlib, Syria

 

I stood at a stair,
two or three steps.
A small stair,
next to a small street.

Later

A snail,
with no head
and no neck
It only had a back,
and lay on the asphalt.

One last look back
a fruit,
perhaps?
It was blue.

Behind it

An empty gate,
a space,
a football pitch.
I had no ball.

 

Hassan Zir (13)

was born in Idlib in Syria and now attends the Hector Peterson School in Kreuzberg, Berlin. He loves swimming and likes to try out every new smartphone game.

We Kill Our Dreams

Hani Shebel

Idlib, Syria

 

At that time he sat
in the dark, lonely cell of a prison.
The warder used to ask him:
Do you think that our power will end one day?
That your dreams will come true?
That you can shape your own future one day?

Then he laughed:
A mere dream, a mere dream!
We will burn down your lands,
kill your dreams!

Don’t you know
we are the gods of time.
If you want to live in peace,
look for a new home!

 

Hani Shebel (21)

comes from Idlib in Syria and is a member of the editorial board of the magazine Was Geht?!, where he is responsible for short films. His last short, War of Colours, attacks the racism that is currently prevalent in society. In the future, Hani would like to work in design.

Foreign Soil

Diana Hamido

Aleppo, Syria

 

Yearning follows me like a shadow
a chain of memory that pulls me into the past.
I would like to cry.

When I think of my grandfather…

I hear his voice.
I see him sitting in his field,
proudly contemplating the infinite number of leaves.
He was like that.

Now he lies in foreign soil, in a foreign country.
I can hardly believe that he took leave of life.
I hear his dry voice.

I have seen countless fields,
but my grandfather’s field was the most beautiful.

Grandfather,
I know that you put much love into this soil,
much work.
Oh, you did not know
that you would have to give it up,
the plants, the river.
Everything.

 

Diana Hamido (20)

comes from Aleppo in Syria and is now attending class 12 in Berlin in for her high school graduation. She likes drawing and intends to study architecture after leaving school.

The Apple

Alan Halo

Shingal, Iraq

 

I see a large garden
Vegetables and fruit everywhere
And my mother at its centre
She is planting a new apple tree
I see how the apple tree grows
With only one apple
My mother forbids us
To touch the apple
She defends the only apple

I hear my aunt at the door
Her pink scarf covers her bald head
She looks around in the garden
And finds the only apple on the tree
She goes to it, looks, pulls the branch towards her
And picks the only apple
We children grin and say
“Be kana u nha tue sanbe kan jea”
“She’s laughing now, but in a moment she is in for something”
Everyone looks at my mother
And at my aunt
And what happens is

Nothing at all

Shortly afterwards, the war came
We ran away
Into the mountains, across the mountains on foot
People lost their lives before my eyes
And left their children behind

Everything is gone, home is gone
The garden is so far away
My aunt has died
She left four small children

When I see a garden or an apple
I think of her

 

Alan Halo (15)

was born in Shingal in Iraq. When war broke out, he and his family fled on foot and by boat to Germany. At first he lived with his uncle and two brothers in a camp in Germany. Only after a year were his parents and other siblings allowed to come from Turkey. Now the family is reunited in a house in Oldenburg, but their future is unclear.

Disappointed Hope

Safe Hajjar

Aleppo, Syria

 

Why are we disappointed,
when we entrust our secrets to those we love most?
We are humans,
we have emotions and feelings.
When we love someone,
we are attached to that person.

Our feelings are hurt
and we are depressed.
In spite of everything, we keep on trying
to find other people.

Is it not true that each of us
would like to live in peace and contentment?
Why do we hold so many hopes
that cannot be fulfilled?

 

Safe Hajjar (23)

comes from Aleppo in Syria. When he came of age and would have had to fight in the war, he fled his homeland and came to Germany in 2015, looking for a better future. In Berlin he is studying for high school graduation, and alongside this would like to perform as a professional singer. For Safe, home means his family in Syria, whom he misses greatly. He still feels he does not belong in Berlin, and being alone is hard for him. Apart from vocational training, above all he would like to find good friends.

You

Safe Hajjar

Aleppo, Syria

 

You came to support me.
I was relieved, I felt your kindness when you helped me.
You were by my side when I felt bad
And I still feel bad.
You called me, I was there.
You wanted something, I gave it to you.
You were honest to me and I believed you.
You asked me, I answered.
We trusted each other.

Today we are opposed, but you are never my enemy.
You treated me badly, and I said:
God forgive you!

 

Safe Hajjar (23)

comes from Aleppo in Syria. When he came of age and would have had to fight in the war, he fled his homeland and came to Germany in 2015, looking for a better future. In Berlin he is studying for high school graduation, and alongside this would like to perform as a professional singer. For Safe, home means his family in Syria, whom he misses greatly. He still feels he does not belong in Berlin, and being alone is hard for him. Apart from vocational training, above all he would like to find good friends.

Language Is Life

Rachel Ulrich

Berlin, Germany

 

You read your poem
In your native language
About your longing
About your life
And I don’t really understand

Nevertheless
I prick up my ears
Fall into the sound
Hear the emotions
Through the lines
And cannot escape the feeling that
I must learn Arabic
To understand poetry

I hear you arguing
In Arabic
About politics, war, hope and hopelessness
About identity
And I understand nothing

Nevertheless
I prick up my ears
And cannot escape the feeling that
No language has words
For the pain
That a war leaves behind

I am told that
Arabic is a language
That has its own day, when it celebrates itself
That has more than 120 million words
That has a wealth of dialects
That is older than German
That has a poem that reads the same from left to right as from right to left

And I think of my potato friends
Who include yallah in their vocabulary
And the next moment
In bourgeois intellectual language
Say, though not straight out,
That Arabs are like this or that
Sexists, terrorists, fundamentalists, dangerous

I understand nothing
And cannot escape the feeling that
Whatever the language
No one masters the language of dialogue

While I write
A text
That tries to express my tender feelings for the Arabic language
I feel annoyed
The words slip from my fingers
Lose their poetry
Because it ends
In politicising what is Arab

I understand nothing
And cannot escape the feeling that
Language is life

 

Rachel Ulrich (22)

grew up in Berlin – the only city where it is possible for her to live. Her nickname is “Rage”, and she would like to make this her agenda more often. She likes hip-hop und Schubert’s Winterreise, alongside this she works 40 hours for a wage. She loves poetry, which consoles her and helps her to find peace, in contrast to politics, which moves her.

Faces at 7:15 am

Lilly Boos

Zurich, Switzerland

 

7:15
Down the stairs, light a ciggy
The ciggy goes out and the bus turns the corner
Someone sprints, the others are ready
Ticket out, get on board
The same faces every morning
For most of them, I know the route

But who are they?
What are their lives like?
What is their job?
How did they come to this city?
Or did they grow up here?

That woman with her suitcase who gets out at the central station
Where is she going?
The boy who sings kindergarten songs early in the morning
How untouched he is
What lies ahead of him?
The man with the glasses and the long coat
Which book is he reading today?

STOP
I get out
Start my day
And the people on the 7:15 bus are forgotten

 

Lilly Boos (20)

grew up near Zurich and in 2017 came to Berlin, where she learned the meaning of freedom, inspiration and strength. Now she lives in Zurich once more and is falling in love with the city again.

Story of a Dream

Adham Al-Jwabra

Syria

 

Dreams don’t enter your mind of their own accord
Every dream has a story
The dream arises out of this story
Dreams don’t simply disappear
And if they do disappear,
Then they were only small wishes

It took my father seven years
To build his house
That was in 2009
After eight years he had to leave the house again
Against his will
Because of the war
He possessed nothing
Apart from his house

He never said
I miss my house
My trees, my flowers, my old life
But I knew that he misses it all
He always says
I am happy when you are happy, dear children
And gives us everything that we need

My dream arose from this story
To build my own house
Here in Germany
Like my father in Syria
And that we will all spend our lives together
In this house

 

Adham Aljwabra (18)

came to Germany in 2017. He describes himself as a person with many dreams – he would like to study dentistry and travel a lot. Adham likes drawing and taking photographs. He loves films and football. In Berlin he lacks a friend who is like a brother to him.

Flower of Tragedy

Danielly Guzzo De Arauja

Vitória, Brazil

 

Life awakes
A small flower is born
Colourless, but it is a flower
The first life that arises there
It is fragile and sad

The flower is watered
With tears
The flower of tragedy
It is pale
Speckled with dots

The flower puts down roots
In the mud
The mud that has taken lives
But today life returns
A simple and sensitive flower

 

Danielly Guzzo De Arauja (17)

from Brazil likes to dance, draw and read. Her dream profession is fashion designer.

The Pain of Loss

Matin Hosseini

Baghershahr, Iran

 

It is very painful to miss someone.
Missing someone means
that your heart stops beating for a brief moment.
Especially
if you miss your mother.
Missing her is unbearable.
I remember every detail about her.

To miss means
that something is not there.
To miss means
that it hurts.
To miss means
that you need something
that you don’t have at that moment.

But from time to time it is also good to miss something.
Sometimes we even need this impulse.
Because without the feel of missing someone,
we do not know
whom we really like
and whom we don’t like.

 

Matin Hosseini (19)

comes from a small town in Iran. At present he is attending the Kopernikus High School in Berlin-Steglitz and studying for high school graduation there. In the distant future he would like to work as a fire fighter or lawyer.

I Don’t Believe in Truth

Matin Hosseini

Baghershahr, Iran

 

Every time I hear the word truth or honesty,
I laugh quietly and say to myself:
You, you, you,
don’t be so insolent!
Up to now you have not been honest at all,
and anyway, you don’t believe in truth.

Oh, oh, oh,
do you really think
that someone would believe you
if you were honest and told the truth?
Trust me!

Today hardly anyone believes in truth.
When I tell something to someone,
they quickly say I am mad.
That is why I behave so strangely to you,
as if I were insolent and mad.
Because it is only between us.

I don’t reveal to anyone
the truth that I have concealed within myself.

 

Matin Hosseini (19)

comes from a small town in Iran. At present he is attending the Kopernikus High School in Berlin-Steglitz and studying for high school graduation there. In the distant future he would like to work as a fire fighter or lawyer.