It’s on the streets, it’s in corners. It’s on the U-Bahn seats, it’s an armor. Don’t be surprised, we all know that behind its disguise, Berlin is a beauty. Hidden in trash, a secret stash of pulsating life.
It’s a juice box, flat, lying on the concrete, with the straw pointing north. It’s in the searching eye of a person, collecting empty bottles from the trash bin. Lifting up the green flask, reflecting against the sun, you can still see the remains of loud music and the weekend fun – in the drops leftover.
It’s a bag of plastic, flying in the air, like an orange bird getting trapped in a tree.
It’s the mess between you and me.
Berlin is a beauty, it’s messy and honest, at times tired from vomit, dripping from stairwells.
And still it has taken care of you, you never fell. At times it crumples up, and then evens out – a constant recycling of breathing in and breathing out.
But the circle of life in the city, it shows that things may come and things may go, what matters is: we arose.
