you died in beauty.

today a tragic and ... sad topic.

this is a poem i wrote about a model who died by suicide some years ago. her name was ruslana korshunowa. i've read an article in the stern magazine about her and was inspired to write this very poem.

i hope you like it.

it is featured in the poem anthology 'das herz ist ein organ aus feuer', purchaseable at amazon.de / amazon.com.

... this poem is about a tragic death in the stern, hard-fought microcosm of fashion models.

***

you died in beauty.

where have you gone. and where have you laid yourself down.

here, on the hard cobbled streets?

your body.

but where is your soul - now?

all around you - those police cordons.

behind them the gazers,

they seem to have nothing to do

but to penetrate you with their lifeless eyes.

those, who seem to live.

but there's one thing i know-

you're dead.

but you had a dream,

you said that once.

the white house in the cherry garden,

with roses climbing on the exterior walls of the house.

on the porch: the bench with its silky pillows.

and rest.

rest and peace ...

rest from yourself and this maze out there,

where no one seems to live anymore.

and now you lie there.

still a bit rosy-tinted - your cheeks,

though your body already busted.

your oh so long hair fly in a rush of wind, that wafts around us.

it's cold - he whips your hair through this storm.

did you only charm to sleep?

now here it lies, your hair, scattered, ruffled by loads and loads of fingers,

to make your beauty visible,

to make it tangible

but nobody ever could.

since now, with you lying there, you showed all those people around you

how fragile it was.

and you took it with you.

into death.

no doubt ...

you died in beauty.