Wind’s little sister

Wind’s lit­tle sis­ter, orig­i­nally uploaded by Thorsten Becker. “Come chil­dren, come gather round, I want to show you some­thing,” mas­ter Wu Shi encour­aged his lit­tle pupils. “Do you know what this is?” he asked. “It’s a flute,” the chil­dren replied. “Oh yes, but it is much more than that. It is a mes­sen­ger. Can you


In silence awaiting

In silence await­ing, orig­i­nally uploaded by Thorsten Becker. Sil­hou­ette for­est Stretch­ing, in silence await­ing The promise of spring © Thorsten Becker


On that day when the clock had stopped

On that day when the clock had stopped, orig­i­nally uploaded by Thorsten Becker. On a day like a thou­sand razors cut­ting through thick fab­ric, tear­ing into burn­ing skin right through to aching bones with icy blazes. On a day of grave like silence, of ghost like islands drift­ing in the shad­owy mist of mourn­ful gloom,


Tears of the sun

Tears of the sun, orig­i­nally uploaded by Thorsten Becker. In that misty air Droplets form on fallen leaves Like tears of the sun © Thorsten Becker


Her heart fell into the lake

Her heart fell into the lake, orig­i­nally uploaded by Thorsten Becker. She beat her chest, the pain chok­ing her, gasp­ing for air. Heartache. Why does it have to hurt so much? Will there ever be hope? Ever be a bright light at the end of the dark tun­nel? She was cry­ing, her dark hair sway­ing


A winter’s night in Istanbul

A winter’s night in Istan­bul, orig­i­nally uploaded by Thorsten Becker. Walk­ing over age old cob­ble­stone Past weath­ered walls Inscribed with the rough ink of his­tory Past cher­ished mon­u­ments And hid­den mys­ter­ies All illu­mi­nated By the dif­fused light Of street lights in the mist Winter’s chill is cast away By a cup of hot salep A bag


Symphony of the night

Sym­phony of the night, orig­i­nally uploaded by Thorsten Becker. A fiery red sun sets in the west, night rises swiftly in the east, a blood red moon her­alds the arrival of age old mys­ter­ies. Silently approaches the mas­quer­ade of ancient crea­tures, on wings of desire, gath­er­ing in the cham­bers of an old lav­ish man­sion. Time