Poetry

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Our hearts beat like drums no matter who we are

First published via Substack on 17.06.2026

Every morning we put on our uniform!
He slips into the sky-blue lie with its knife-edge crease.
The silky burden of responsibility wraps tightly around his neck.
Quickly the soothing scent of Oudh, so woody, smoky, yet sweet, fills the entire house.
A goodbye kiss for his wife; their untouched, soft hands rest in each other’s like lotus petals.
With a light, carefree click, the door locks behind him.
Every morning we put on our uniform!
He slips into the stiff uncertainty.
Grabs the skull which is supposed to protect him.
He takes a deep breath his nostrils cool and damp, the taste of metallic fear spreading through his mouth.
A goodbye kiss for his wife; his hands, so hard and rough, covered in cracks, lie in hers like sandpaper.
The shrieking metal of the makeshift door pierces through his empty stomach.
Every morning we put on our uniform!
One made out of silk, the other of stone.
The chasm between them could not be wider.
Marionettes of the same puppeteer.
Parted by massive golden bars.
Beneath their shadows, the truth lies buried.

First one

First published via Instagram on 16.03.2026

I walk down the street
looking left,
looking right.
Every window whispers:
"New dress.
New bike.
New life."
I unlock my phone,
it feels welcoming and warm.
Thanks to the algorithm,
it knows me the best:
My trigger points,
my emotional restless.
I receive 20 different emotions,
99 adds just in the time before breakfast.
My cravings for dopamine.
Scrolling as a therapy.
It whispers:
"You need!"
and gives me a short relief.
My senses are stimulated 24/7
My brain overflown from a Tsunami of informations.
Generated
by the people who study our minds.
The keepers
of knowledge and data.
Equipped with powerful tools,
which are used
to influence and confuse.
Imagine a world
where identity is yours to define,
not assembled from ads,
not shouted into your mind.
This is a world we will never see
as long as capitalism is the key.