Listen. The world. More and more black and white. Loud. And louder and louder. Noise. Everywhere. Flood of information. Screaming. Subjugating. Same messages. Over and over again. Or just the opposite. Redundant. Empty. Hollow. Only Lorem. Or Ipsum. - The truth? Is different. Feels different. Is someplace else…

Koltbach and 14 wonderful collaboration artists from around the world are inviting you, to listen to tiny musical stories. Stories about dreams, hope, trust, understanding, sadness, truth, forgiveness…
Neither Lorem. Nor Ipsum. A pure insight into the variety and fragility of life…

The Artists

Vero

Truth — is as old as God —
His Twin identity
And will endure as long as He
A Co-Eternity —

And perish on the Day
Himself is borne away
From Mansion of the Universe
A lifeless Deity.

Emily Dickinson

Culpa

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

Langston Hughes

Mi

I count each day a little life,
With birth and death complete;
I cloister it from care and strife
And keep it sane and sweet.

With eager eyes I greet the morn,
Exultant as a boy,
Knowing that I am newly born
To wonder and to joy.

And when the sunset splendours wane
And ripe for rest am I,
Knowing that I will live again,
Exultantly I die.

O that all Life were but a Day
Sunny and sweet and sane!
And that at Even I might say:
"I sleep to wake again."

Robert W. Service

Amet

ماه بخیر، خیلی بی سر و صدا می روی
در ابرهای غروب،
شما خیلی آرام هستید و من احساس می کنم
که من بی استراحتم!
متأسفانه چشمانم دنبال می شود
راه آرام و آرام تو؛
ای سرنوشت چقدر سخت است
که من نمی توانم تو را دنبال کنم!

ماه بخیر، برای تو ناله خواهم کرد
آنچه قلب مضطرب من را غمگین می کند
و با تمام بدبختی های من
روح غمگین می اندیشد.
ماه بخیر، آن را خواهید شناخت،
چون تو خیلی رازی،
چرا اشک هایم جاری می شود
و قلبم خیلی غمگینه

جزوه آهنگ (1808)

Good moon, you go so quietly
In the evening clouds,
You are so calm, and I feel
That I am without rest!
Sadly my eyes follow
Thy mild, serene path;
O how hard is the fate,
That I cannot follow thee!

Good moon, to you I will lament,
What grieves my anxious heart,
And by all my woes
The sorrowful soul thinks.
Good moon, you shall know it,
Because thou art so secret,
Why my tears flow,
And my heart is so sad.

Song pamphlet (1808)

eos

This gravity
Will pull on me
Until I’ve drowned
Within the ground
For in the air
My lungs do dare
To breathe the sky;
I want to fly.

Kit

eget

Do not stand
By my grave, and weep.
I am not there,
I do not sleep-
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning’s hush,
I am the swift up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight,
I am the day transcending soft night.
Do not stand
By my grave, and cry-
I am not there.
I did not die.

Clare Harner

aliqua

Yonder orb of dazzling light,
Sinks beneath the robe of night,
And the moon so sweetly pale,
Waits to lift her silver veil.
One by one the stars appear,
Glittering in the heavenly sphere,
And sparkling in their bright array,
Welcome in the close of day.
But home, that sacred, pure retreat,
Where dwells my heart in all that's sweet,
And my own stream, where oft I've stray'd,
And mark'd the beams that o'er it play'd,
Is far away, o'er the waters blue,
Far from my fondly straining view.

Margaret Miller Davidson

nibh

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare

No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare

William Henry Davies

takimata

My heart was heavy, for its trust had been
Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong;
So, turning gloomily from my fellow-men,
One summer Sabbath day I strolled among
The green mounds of the village burial-place;
Where, pondering how all human love and hate
Find one sad level; and how, soon or late,
Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face,
And cold hands folded over a still heart,
Pass the green threshold of our common grave,
Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart,
Awed for myself, and pitying my race,
Our common sorrow, like a mighty wave,
Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave!

George William Russell

lorem ipsum

(the host)