Walking Tempelhofer Feld

My ponderous steps echo through a quiet Friday morning.
Joggers, slowed by the scale, weave narratives into the landscape.

Where strife and desolation once reigned, lovers now stroll,
Their laughter soft against ancient brick crowned with razor wire—
A past that refuses silence, yet no longer dominates.

The only struggle left is personal,
As joggers chase their elusive best,
Their rhythmic breaths testifying to a relentless quest for self-improvement.

In this urban prairie, nature reclaims her throne,
Ravens rule, feasting, playing, copulating—
Unapologetic vitality against the steel and concrete,
A reminder of life’s relentless cycle.

Crisscrossing paths of this airfield-turned-park, history’s weight is palpable,
Not a burden but a testament to resilience.
Old buildings stand watch, silent stories etched in every brick and stone,
Casting shadows over tranquil spaces.

In Berlin, the fringe is a state of mind,
And here, amidst Tempelhofer Feld’s echoes, respite is found from conformity’s specter.
The city, gritty and glorious,
Embraces the outsider, offers sanctuary to those who dream beyond the ordinary.

As the sun rises, casting a golden light,
This walk through Tempelhofer Feld becomes a journey into Berlin’s heart—
Where history and hope, love and loss coexist.
To me, this is Berlin.
In its embrace, one finds not just a place,
But a reflection of the human condition.