Category Archives: Word Arts

“Dare To Play” – Reha

The one who comes last in the race wins as much as the one who crosses the line first. The only loser is the one who never dares to cross the starting line. One who always loves to cheer from the stands. Who can find a hundred reasons to slip through the back door but not a single reason to be the frontrunner. Who’d relentlessly suffer, hiding in shadows yet won’t show up on the starting line, fearing what if he fails!

And honestly speaking, somehow this person resides in everyone of us, in some nook and corner, playing hide and seek from time to time. Neither strong nor weak, always eclipsed between the dawn of heart and dusk of mind. Desperately awaiting the single moment when your guts go weak and self esteem beats slow, and that is when you stop.

You think it’s okay to stop sometimes, to sit back in the gallery and cheer for others, unfortunately not realising that deep down inside a part of you wails for missing out on another experience. For it can’t comprehend your fears, but only see that you are as much capable as the one out there. Then what to fear and why to hide away. For mistakes are something we all make and winning or losing never makes any sense.

The only real aim is to play every game. To try your guts out, no matter how hard it seems. For at the end of day the only winner is the one who tried and everyone else celebrates defeat.

Poetry by Reha. Follow her blog!

“We Are All Puppets” – Oliver Ritthaler

Down at the beach
I find my inner Child.
Back on the street
I find my inner Warrior.
Deep in the woods
I find my inner Explorer.
Back at home
I find all Myself. (or)

“We Are All Puppets” by Oliver Ritthaler

We are all puppets,
Some on a string, some with long
Swing, some lost one wing.

Don’t leave them on beach,
Care them, they bleach in a sun
We will never reach. (jf)

“Sway With Me” – Reha

Hey Human,
Why do you keep your head low,
Day and night,
No matter how dark or bright.
Look above to the endless sky,
The birds racing in freedom,
The sun playing hide and seek,
Behind the clouds that know no rules,
Blending into a setting sun,
Painting a canvas with mystic hues.
So many tales are there to tell,
About me, without me.
Of days when I blow in your face,
Just to see that smile light up.
Of days I create a havoc in your hair,
Just to pull your heavy strings a bit.
And of days when I’m absent,
Just because only my absence
Can make you feel my presence,
My existence and my negligence.
I’m sure you’ve heard, walls have ears.
But do you know, I too have a few.
I too have eyes, that see your gloom.
And skin that feels, your struggles within.
A brain that knows, what’s going on inside.
And a heart that knows burying things alive,
Wouldn’t ever make your morning bright.
So please look up and feel me around,
For even in the hardest steps,
I’ll make sure you don’t fall.
I’ll listen to your stories,
Without judging the cause.
And would just sway around,
Even when you push me aside.
For all I want is you to be alive.
To suffer, but not alone.
To know, someone’s there to listen.
To believe, the end is far away.
And when you fall short of breath and belief,
Melt in the darkness, and sway with me.
For I’ve known a thousand languages,
And in each one, love and trust speaks the same way.
Just sway and breathe,
And know you’re not alone.

– Confessions of the Wind

Poetry by Reha. Follow her blog!
Video by JF.

“Centauri Theta” – Jonathan Falk

My 100th exploration mission! Time to celebrate. This planet is a beauty, only lifeforms here are algae. They consume dried lava. A day here lasts 42 earth years, when night comes they die under a wave of quicksilver fog. My task is collecting data for a possible mining project. Actually I am sure this is a great opportunity to take some nice VR-photos. Time to concentrate.

To not lose my orientation on the fractalic surface of Theta, I follow the sun. This snow-covered mountain comes in sight. Devices measure its height to 65.000 feet – what a giant. I catch the moment tons of quicksilver ice are blown away by a carbondioxid windburst. A tiny earthquake follows, scaled 3.2, and winds calm down. The kids will love my pictures…

Concentration of algae in that 2 miles wide river is very high. I don’t fear to sink neither have to use my jumpsuit, I just walk over the water. Slowly I believe we should harvest those plants first, because they contain different metals and proteins, they are everywhere and easy to collect, scans force this impression. Wish I could take off my helmet and smell the air coming from those deep purple valleys. I laugh, I would suffocate and my eyes would implode. Not my favourite death. Pressure on sealevel is actually 65 Bar. In 200 years this may be a nice holiday planet.

At first it was a stunning view over the huge crystal-like quicksilver ocean. Much too late I realized the mess, that the red blinking lamp was showing me. The ongoing winds have brought spores over spores to block ventilation system of the suit. Man, I told boss of machinery to care this problem… Instruments say I have 30 minutes until total decompression. Damn. I just can send an SOS-signal and press thumbs. Gosh, I am thinking of my beautiful wife and my two caring husbands. Will I ever see them again? My skin is itching heavily.

I have switched on some classical earth music called drum’n’bass to calm my nerves and, in worst case, I would have a soft ending. My eyelids felt heavy and colours played a funny game with my visual perception. Then it happens… I don’t know what this Andromedian freighter brought here, but it is last hope. Would those smugglers care? Or just steal my technology? When their anti-gravitational arm is grabbing me, warmth floods my body and I lose consciousness.

I open my eyes in a decompression chamber and take a last view on Centauri Theta. They haven’t killed me. The smugglers say they bring me to spacestation Lambda Criolis hoping for a expense allowance. I believe them, lucky me… Sure United Planets Administration will pay, cause they know the importance of my exploration. My name is Shania McSingh and in the 247 years of my life I never felt this eager to see my beloved again. And to take a bath…

“Three Types Of Texture” – Oliver Ritthaler

_~*three types of texture*~_

Who cares if you are old? Maybe you’re not old but vintage.

Who the hell calls you torn? Maybe you’re not torn but charming.

Why they say you’re faded when it’s just your kind of character?

Three types of texture.

Three different angles of view.

Three types of posture.

Unlimited types of you.

“Three Types Of Texture” by Oliver Ritthaler