Tiger shells
This article was originally published in German. The English version is an automatic translation and may contain errors. The German original is authoritative.
I hear the roar of the sea in the ear of the shell
Do you know thick-walled, striped shells
that remember the sound of the waves?
They have stored the coming and going
in their mother-of-pearl interior
It ripples airily in smooth cotton wool
without suffocating
but instead carries itself ever onwards
without fading away
An endless piece of music
An echo of repetition
These shells come from the sea
and lay on the beach like sand
next to encrusted shells of crustacean bodies
and faded plastic splinters
and waterlogged dead wood
and oil cans washed-up tank
sticky seagull feather
The shells have remembered much
even though they were silent
precisely because they were silent
Even today they do not speak
They live the song of the sea
Gentle lamentation, soft whisper
Do you listen to them?
Press your ear against the cold grooves of their mouth bodies
Forget your story
Listen
The shells are wise
They have turned inward what they know
Their heart is what has surrounded them
If their hard-layered form breaks
the compressed poem goes
into the salty air
Liberation means getting lost
Tell me, what secret do you carry within you?
Do you whisper too or am I too loud?
I believe the shells love the sea
What one loves, one carries within oneself