Das Album.

Yellowish-brown, or sepia
imprinted on cardboard
are seven women
girls, beings in a row in dark gray
from yesterday
My sisters
bound side by side
with an iron ring around their necks,
to which a chain hung,
with a lock to
retain and display ownership
Chained together
heavy on the chest
and for how long. How long – already?
And whose son?
Stiles with
wooden blocks at the end,
support their bodies
hold their hands
these long hammers
for what purpose?
For what work, task
– torture as reward
There were surely screams
pain, tears
and longing
for a before or an after
and to stay awake
and be taken and suffer more
And then one day someone came
and they were counted, forced, and posed
until the one before them raised his hand and
captured and held it all
In a photograph
„Stand still!“
The, the, the, the
the, and the, and the…
And that one moment
when the injustice was frozen
can no longer be lost
And these SEVEN
now printed and described thousands of times
sent, ridiculed, used, and avoided
as “correspondence postcard” with warm
greetings from G-East Africa
not by the wind
but brought to the post by people,
bought, stamped, seen,
written
ridiculed
scattered, preserved, remained
Their pain, their anger sent through time –
They speak to me
„I was here. I existed. Your actions
are testimonies.
Mine, yours, our lives
are intertwined history –
ALL LIFE“
Even today, streets are named after the perpetrators,
but these SEVEN remain unknown,
they have survived on this piece of paper
they are here.