by Ingrid Prohaska
Lonely heart
where are you now?
There was a day
I thought you hurt me;
I sent you away,
didn't want to feel the pain.
But now - today
I really miss you.
I know I was wrong.
Please come home!
Copyright © 2009 Ingrid Prohaska
_
Monday, July 27, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
About a Drop-out
by Ingrid Prohaska
On that Friday afternoon I drove my car on the highway out of the city. A lot of others did the same, so there was a lot traffic, but it worked fluently.
After a few miles I noticed the brake lights of the cars in front of me. The traffic stood still and so I had to stop my car.
I looked around. In front of me cars as far my sight could reach. Left of me cars and behind me the number of cars got more and more.
I looked out of the window on the right side and saw the nature. And although I had driven that highway several times I had never seen the beauty of the landscape beside the highway before.
I saw the fields and the meadows, a small forest and a brook winding its path through the scene. Far away I noticed a village; I could see the tower of the village-church. And I saw a country lane leading to the village; a single car was driving there seemingly slowly.
Suddenly I felt locked in and a desire of being part of that scene in the landscape instead of being part of the scene on the highway and in a crowd of cars arose.
I hadn’t thought about what I did, when I turned the steering wheel to the right and drove my car towards the slope. I heard some horns trying to alert me while my car was rolling down the slope. I reached the bottom of the slope and felt the car setting up. The car rolled out on a meadow. I opened the window and sighed relieved.
Finally I reached the country lane I had seen from the highway.
I felt the air on my face and leaned back. The noise of the traffic on the highway got lower and the sound of the nature was going audibly.
The feeling of freedom replaced the feeling of locked in. I enjoyed moving again and I was looking forward where this path would lead me.
Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska
_
On that Friday afternoon I drove my car on the highway out of the city. A lot of others did the same, so there was a lot traffic, but it worked fluently.
After a few miles I noticed the brake lights of the cars in front of me. The traffic stood still and so I had to stop my car.
I looked around. In front of me cars as far my sight could reach. Left of me cars and behind me the number of cars got more and more.
I looked out of the window on the right side and saw the nature. And although I had driven that highway several times I had never seen the beauty of the landscape beside the highway before.
I saw the fields and the meadows, a small forest and a brook winding its path through the scene. Far away I noticed a village; I could see the tower of the village-church. And I saw a country lane leading to the village; a single car was driving there seemingly slowly.
Suddenly I felt locked in and a desire of being part of that scene in the landscape instead of being part of the scene on the highway and in a crowd of cars arose.
I hadn’t thought about what I did, when I turned the steering wheel to the right and drove my car towards the slope. I heard some horns trying to alert me while my car was rolling down the slope. I reached the bottom of the slope and felt the car setting up. The car rolled out on a meadow. I opened the window and sighed relieved.
Finally I reached the country lane I had seen from the highway.
I felt the air on my face and leaned back. The noise of the traffic on the highway got lower and the sound of the nature was going audibly.
The feeling of freedom replaced the feeling of locked in. I enjoyed moving again and I was looking forward where this path would lead me.
Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska
_
Sunday, July 19, 2009
The Step
by Ingrid Prohaska
I had a dream
full of good things
dreamful things.
One day
I did the step
into my dream.
It was wonderful.
It is wonderful.
No doubts, no fear,
all I had wished.
But -
what I got
was finally
the fear of waking up again.
Copyright © 2008 Ingrid Prohaska
_
I had a dream
full of good things
dreamful things.
One day
I did the step
into my dream.
It was wonderful.
It is wonderful.
No doubts, no fear,
all I had wished.
But -
what I got
was finally
the fear of waking up again.
Copyright © 2008 Ingrid Prohaska
_
Monday, July 6, 2009
A Visit to Mister Greenleaf
by Ingrid Prohaska
“May I invite you into my garden?” Sometimes we spoke over the fence, like neighbours often do, but this was the first time Mr. Greenleaf had asked me to visit his garden.
I always had troubles with my plants and Mr. Greenleaf was known as the man with the green thumb. I told him about my problems and so I came into his little paradise.
I went on a stoned path. Beside the path were flowers, each more beautiful than the others. You could feel that he really loved his work in the garden.
“Follow me” Mr. Greenleaf went towards his glasshouse.
“Oh, what a beautiful flower!” I said when I saw this flower. I thought, it was the most beautiful plant, I could see in his garden. “What is your secret?” I asked.
He smiled “Come with me.”
We went into the glasshouse and stopped at a sack of seeds. He took a handful seeds and let them ran through his fingers. “They all have the same genes” he told me “you can handle them right or wrong.”
He moved his arm to follow him. He stopped at a table. Many pots stood on the table. “First you put the seed in a pot with good earth. The earth outside is too hard for a seed. The seed’ll have only a very small chance of sprouting.” He chose a pot and while he hold the pot with his right hand, his left hand moved into a big pot with good wet earth and he put the earth into a small pot. Then he put the seed in the middle of the pot and pressed it with his thumb into the earth.
“So, this seed has its chance” he smiled. “But now all depends on our care. Give the seed enough water, but not too much. Take care that the air is wet enough and that the seed gets enough sun. It needs warm air. Handle the seed with care, do it with love, give the seed time, be patient. If everything is all right, a few weeks later you’ll see a sprout. It is always a great pleasure for me when the sprout appears. But this is only the beginning. The sprout also needs the same care. Handle the sprout with care, do it with love and - don’t laugh at me – I always speak to the sprouts.
A few weeks later you have seen the sprout grown up. Now you can put the pot outside during the day. But bring it inside for the night. It could be too cold for the plant. Keep patient and keep handling the plant with care, give love to it and well – speak to the plant.
You’ll see, a few weeks later you can see the first flower buds. The plant is now strong enough to put it outside. Continue to handle it with care, give love to it and – maybe speak to it.
One day the buds will be open and you will be happy. The flower will give you a lot of pleasure; you will see.
So, all over I tell you: Be careful, you can have seeds with the best genes. If you don’t handle them with care and love, they only have a little chance to become what they could have become.”
Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska
_
“May I invite you into my garden?” Sometimes we spoke over the fence, like neighbours often do, but this was the first time Mr. Greenleaf had asked me to visit his garden.
I always had troubles with my plants and Mr. Greenleaf was known as the man with the green thumb. I told him about my problems and so I came into his little paradise.
I went on a stoned path. Beside the path were flowers, each more beautiful than the others. You could feel that he really loved his work in the garden.
“Follow me” Mr. Greenleaf went towards his glasshouse.
“Oh, what a beautiful flower!” I said when I saw this flower. I thought, it was the most beautiful plant, I could see in his garden. “What is your secret?” I asked.
He smiled “Come with me.”
We went into the glasshouse and stopped at a sack of seeds. He took a handful seeds and let them ran through his fingers. “They all have the same genes” he told me “you can handle them right or wrong.”
He moved his arm to follow him. He stopped at a table. Many pots stood on the table. “First you put the seed in a pot with good earth. The earth outside is too hard for a seed. The seed’ll have only a very small chance of sprouting.” He chose a pot and while he hold the pot with his right hand, his left hand moved into a big pot with good wet earth and he put the earth into a small pot. Then he put the seed in the middle of the pot and pressed it with his thumb into the earth.
“So, this seed has its chance” he smiled. “But now all depends on our care. Give the seed enough water, but not too much. Take care that the air is wet enough and that the seed gets enough sun. It needs warm air. Handle the seed with care, do it with love, give the seed time, be patient. If everything is all right, a few weeks later you’ll see a sprout. It is always a great pleasure for me when the sprout appears. But this is only the beginning. The sprout also needs the same care. Handle the sprout with care, do it with love and - don’t laugh at me – I always speak to the sprouts.
A few weeks later you have seen the sprout grown up. Now you can put the pot outside during the day. But bring it inside for the night. It could be too cold for the plant. Keep patient and keep handling the plant with care, give love to it and well – speak to the plant.
You’ll see, a few weeks later you can see the first flower buds. The plant is now strong enough to put it outside. Continue to handle it with care, give love to it and – maybe speak to it.
One day the buds will be open and you will be happy. The flower will give you a lot of pleasure; you will see.
So, all over I tell you: Be careful, you can have seeds with the best genes. If you don’t handle them with care and love, they only have a little chance to become what they could have become.”
Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska
_
The Story Of The Musician
by Ingrid Prohaska
There was this great music in the house. You know, that kind of music that makes you shiver, that kind of music that conquers your heart.
My steps got slower. I really wanted to know where the music was coming from. I was planning on leaving my apartment, planning on leaving the town. So I spent a lot of time in the staircase, moving up and down the stairs to carry my things into my car. And so I had heard this music several times that day.
Following the sound I suddenly stood at the right door. I didn’t know how long I had stood there to listen.
I didn’t know exactly what happened and how it was going to happen, but suddenly I saw my finger on the doorbell.
A middle-aged man opened the door. He was a handsome man and he had this really bright eyes. You know, that kind of eyes that let you staring at somebody, that kind of eyes that make you bounded.
“Excuse me, Sir” I whispered, “I heard the music coming out of your apartment and I want to ask you, who had written it. It is my last day in this house and I’d like to buy the song. Could you please tell me the title and the name of the composer?”
“Oh,” he answered, “I’m sorry, but I think, I can’t help you. This music isn’t available. You can’t buy it.”
“Oh,” my eyes fell, “what a pity, I really have fallen in love with this music.”
A smile crossed his face, he looked at me, as if he wanted to know, if he could trust me.
“You’re going to leave this house?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m going to leave the town,” I answered.
“So, if you want to listen to the music …”
Steps were heard somewhere in the staircase and in a short time someone would pass us.
“So, come in, if you want to.” He said quickly. I didn’t think about what I was doing in this moment and suddenly I was in his apartment and he closed the door behind us.
“This music isn’t available.” he repeated “It never has been published, but if you want to listen to it, I will play it for you.”
He took a chair for me to take a seat. I nodded and sat down.
He went to his piano and started playing. I didn’t know how long I had sat there. This magic music conquered my heart and I felt every cell in my body was swinging. I had closed my eyes and even didn’t want to open them after the music was over. There was a great silence.
I didn’t know how long I had sat there. I felt a lot of emotions and I felt tears running over my face. I opened my eyes. He was still sitting at his piano staring at me.
“Why,” I stammered, my hand moved the tears from my face, “why…?”
“You want to know, why I have never published the music?”
I gave him a nod.
“Well,” he said, “it’s like my child and I don’t want to throw it away. If I let it leave, other people would take possession of it, they would analyze it, they would value it, they would finally destroy it.”
“You are able to write such a great music and still are so full of fear?”
I felt ashamed about my open words and my eyes went down.
“Well,” he said and I could hear him smiling, “I know what you mean, but …”
“This music is able to reach hearts, you should let it become free!”
I was shocked about my words, talking to a stranger in this way.
He was still smiling, but I noticed that this magic brightness in his eyes was gone.
“We’ll see” he said, while he stood up.
A few moments later I was back in the staircase. The door was closed again.
I left the house, I left the town.
A few months later I came back to apologize, but he had left his apartment and nobody was able to tell me where he had been gone.
I have never seen this man again and I have never heard this music again.
Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska
_
There was this great music in the house. You know, that kind of music that makes you shiver, that kind of music that conquers your heart.
My steps got slower. I really wanted to know where the music was coming from. I was planning on leaving my apartment, planning on leaving the town. So I spent a lot of time in the staircase, moving up and down the stairs to carry my things into my car. And so I had heard this music several times that day.
Following the sound I suddenly stood at the right door. I didn’t know how long I had stood there to listen.
I didn’t know exactly what happened and how it was going to happen, but suddenly I saw my finger on the doorbell.
A middle-aged man opened the door. He was a handsome man and he had this really bright eyes. You know, that kind of eyes that let you staring at somebody, that kind of eyes that make you bounded.
“Excuse me, Sir” I whispered, “I heard the music coming out of your apartment and I want to ask you, who had written it. It is my last day in this house and I’d like to buy the song. Could you please tell me the title and the name of the composer?”
“Oh,” he answered, “I’m sorry, but I think, I can’t help you. This music isn’t available. You can’t buy it.”
“Oh,” my eyes fell, “what a pity, I really have fallen in love with this music.”
A smile crossed his face, he looked at me, as if he wanted to know, if he could trust me.
“You’re going to leave this house?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m going to leave the town,” I answered.
“So, if you want to listen to the music …”
Steps were heard somewhere in the staircase and in a short time someone would pass us.
“So, come in, if you want to.” He said quickly. I didn’t think about what I was doing in this moment and suddenly I was in his apartment and he closed the door behind us.
“This music isn’t available.” he repeated “It never has been published, but if you want to listen to it, I will play it for you.”
He took a chair for me to take a seat. I nodded and sat down.
He went to his piano and started playing. I didn’t know how long I had sat there. This magic music conquered my heart and I felt every cell in my body was swinging. I had closed my eyes and even didn’t want to open them after the music was over. There was a great silence.
I didn’t know how long I had sat there. I felt a lot of emotions and I felt tears running over my face. I opened my eyes. He was still sitting at his piano staring at me.
“Why,” I stammered, my hand moved the tears from my face, “why…?”
“You want to know, why I have never published the music?”
I gave him a nod.
“Well,” he said, “it’s like my child and I don’t want to throw it away. If I let it leave, other people would take possession of it, they would analyze it, they would value it, they would finally destroy it.”
“You are able to write such a great music and still are so full of fear?”
I felt ashamed about my open words and my eyes went down.
“Well,” he said and I could hear him smiling, “I know what you mean, but …”
“This music is able to reach hearts, you should let it become free!”
I was shocked about my words, talking to a stranger in this way.
He was still smiling, but I noticed that this magic brightness in his eyes was gone.
“We’ll see” he said, while he stood up.
A few moments later I was back in the staircase. The door was closed again.
I left the house, I left the town.
A few months later I came back to apologize, but he had left his apartment and nobody was able to tell me where he had been gone.
I have never seen this man again and I have never heard this music again.
Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska
_
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Now you are free
by Ingrid Prohaska
Now you are free, she said
and sighed relieved.
He’s dead, she said.
And a soul was waiting
to see what she would feel.
You can leave your cave, she said,
you needn’t hide anymore.
He’s dead, she said.
And a soul was wondering
how freedom would taste.
You’ll see the sun,
you’ll feel the rain,
you’ll reach the stars,
you’ll lose your pain.
Memories came back
about a time where she hadn’t yet
seen what he was going to do.
Happy moments had got a veil,
the brightness had gone,
the world had become pale.
And a love had died
like a flower without light.
Try to understand, she said,
find your way to forgive.
He’s dead, she said.
And a soul was crying
why did he do that to me?
It was not my fault, she said
seemed not to be his.
He’s dead, she said.
And a soul was hoping
for a renewing spring.
When -
I’ll see the sun,
I’ll feel the rain,
I’ll reach the stars,
one day – I’ll lose my pain.
Copyright © 2009 Ingrid Prohaska
_
Now you are free, she said
and sighed relieved.
He’s dead, she said.
And a soul was waiting
to see what she would feel.
You can leave your cave, she said,
you needn’t hide anymore.
He’s dead, she said.
And a soul was wondering
how freedom would taste.
You’ll see the sun,
you’ll feel the rain,
you’ll reach the stars,
you’ll lose your pain.
Memories came back
about a time where she hadn’t yet
seen what he was going to do.
Happy moments had got a veil,
the brightness had gone,
the world had become pale.
And a love had died
like a flower without light.
Try to understand, she said,
find your way to forgive.
He’s dead, she said.
And a soul was crying
why did he do that to me?
It was not my fault, she said
seemed not to be his.
He’s dead, she said.
And a soul was hoping
for a renewing spring.
When -
I’ll see the sun,
I’ll feel the rain,
I’ll reach the stars,
one day – I’ll lose my pain.
Copyright © 2009 Ingrid Prohaska
_
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Daybreak in Fall
by Ingrid Prohaska
One day it happened.
Fear hit me in the face.
"Not with me" I thought, and called for satisfaction.
Daybreak in fall in a glade in the deep forest.
There stood eye to eye
on one side - Fear. Evil experience the second;
on the other side - I. My second was called Self-love.
We chose our guns, the duel could begin.
One, two - I heard the leaves rustle under my feet,
three, four - my knees felt weak,
five, six - "kill the fear, kill the fear",
seven, eight - "before Fear kills you",
nine, ten
I turned around;
a shot was heard;
I fell to the ground;
Fear disappeared.
A nightmare gone,
a dream fulfilled.
Freedom came to me;
Self-love helped me to my feet again.
And if you say "This story is fiction!",
I answer you "How real is fear?"
Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska
_
One day it happened.
Fear hit me in the face.
"Not with me" I thought, and called for satisfaction.
Daybreak in fall in a glade in the deep forest.
There stood eye to eye
on one side - Fear. Evil experience the second;
on the other side - I. My second was called Self-love.
We chose our guns, the duel could begin.
One, two - I heard the leaves rustle under my feet,
three, four - my knees felt weak,
five, six - "kill the fear, kill the fear",
seven, eight - "before Fear kills you",
nine, ten
I turned around;
a shot was heard;
I fell to the ground;
Fear disappeared.
A nightmare gone,
a dream fulfilled.
Freedom came to me;
Self-love helped me to my feet again.
And if you say "This story is fiction!",
I answer you "How real is fear?"
Copyright © 2007 Ingrid Prohaska
_
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