All photos provided by the author. This compilation contains a selection of writings from the open ended, creative writing workshop held in Münster, Germany in August/September 2025.
And after, we will also need to rebuild the language (Ostap Slyvynsky, Lviv, Ukraine)
Conflicts change language(s), often beyond recognition. Peace, however, remains unfazed by all the turmoil, seeks its own language. What experiences of peace have you had? How can peace be expressed in words? How can we counter conflict and war with words and language? Who are we in peace? What different perspectives do we adopt? And what language of understanding can we find?
Our project started with a professionally facilitated, peace focused creative writing workshop for young people (and those young at heart, too). The participants (age 16 to 74) – with and without writing experience – started writing almost immediately following various impulses, while learning to listen to their own inner voices, develop ideas, pursue questions as well as inspire, exchange and listen to each other.
In our workshop, texts could be written in any language and we could also mix languages. For mutual understanding, general communication was in German and English. Texts written in languages other than German were translated afterwards by skilled professionals for the public reading one month later. Listening to each other meant learning about experiences of peace and deep emotions in different languages such as English, Farsi, Russian (from Ukraine), and German as well.
But what is this special creative writing workshop all about? To sum it up: Given the controversial way peace is being discussed right now, many feel a clear sense of unease. This regardless of whether the discussions stem from ideological or religious conflicts, the struggle for climate justice, or wars in Europe and other continents, or the rising influence of right-wing extremists in many democratic countries, even in Germany. So what helps to counter this situation? As mentioned before, keeping in mind the change of language(s) in conflicts. But perhaps also, what two participants wrote in their joint registration form: “We know that peace begins with ourselves. And we want to learn how others see peace.” All this could or should help to open spaces to talk about peace.
What’s the purpose of this project? To build up a growing multilingual dictionary in different languages, consisting of poems, short stories, philosophical essays, etc. —as a basis for a young, open space for a new peace conference in Münster in 2026.
The writing lab and translations were completely free of charge, thanks to a considerable amount of private and public funding. Several associations gave strong support to the realization of the project. Amina Diehl (here also: Amie) from the association Evangelisches Forum Münster had a huge impact. Together we developed the project from the very beginning. The Forum will stay the central partner for the conference next year. Amina also reported for social media from the writing lab and the reading lab, both in German.
With all this in mind, what follows is a small selection of writings from the lab, in their original languages and English translation.
***
Mohaddeseh Hossini
Incomprehensible
Have you ever had a strange feeling about yourself?
A feeling like you do not belong to anything,
Not belong to time, to place, to… people.
For a long time I’ve felt that I don’t belong anywhere or to anything, in a way that feels like I don’t exist.
Basically, I do exist.
I breathe, I eat, I drink, I live among people — yet still I feel like I don’t exist, suspended between place and time…
vague and confused.
…Incomprehensible.
‘Incomprehensible’ is the best word I’ve found so far in which I can see myself.
I am incomprehensible.
My words, my feelings, and my views have always been incomprehensible to others, so much that I decided not to express them, and I float alone in my own incomprehensibility.
An incomprehensible me among billions of strange and lonely beings.
(written 30.11.2022, translated from Farsi 7.12.2022)
تا حالاحس عجيبى نسبت به خودتون داشتيد؟
حسى مثل متعلق نبودن به هيج جيز، متعلق نبودن به زمان ، به مكان به
…ادمها
مدتهاست احساس ميكنم به هيج جايى و به هيج جيزى متعلق نيستم طورى كه انكار وجود ندارم
درواقع من وجود دارم
نفس ميكشمف ميخورم، مينوشم، در ميان ادمها زندكى ميكنم اما با اين حال بازهم احساس ميكنم وجود ندارم، معلق بين مكان و. زمان …كيج ومبهم
…نامفهوم
نامفهوم بهترين كلمه ايست كه تا به حال پيدا كردم كه خودم را در آن
.ميبينم
.من نامفهوم هستم
حرف ها، احساسات وديدكاه من هميشه براى ديكران نامفهوم بوده، انقدر كه تصميم كرفتم بيانشان نكنم و من تنها در من نامفهومم
شناورم يك من نامفهوم در ميان ميلياردها كونه ى عجيب وتنها
Gregor Bohnensack
My Mother’s Goat
(story inspired by a postcard depicting the Japanese word karōshi)
I’ve never seen my mother’s goat. I only smelled it. I went into the whitewashed barn. I saw my mother as a girl. She had to milk the goat. That was her job. The war was over. It was the first world war. My mother’s father, my grandfather, were deeply saddened. Germany had lost the war. And the emperor had been forced to abdicate. My grandfather loved the emperor. My grandfather had worked hard for the house, the barn, and the goat. He was a devout Protestant. But the word karōshi applied to him. Karōshi is Japanese and means death from overwork.
Now his daughter crouched on one side of the goat and milked the animal. The goat was stubborn and kicked the girl. Many times Mother talked about her bruises. The milking and kicking continued until the second world war. Germany lost the second world war as well.
Whenever I entered the barn next to my parents’ house, my nose would always be hit by that pungent smell. And all the stories from the old days would come to mind. But the story about the goat was the most memorable for me.
(translated by the author from German)
Die Ziege meiner Mutter
Ich habe die Ziege meiner Mutter nie gesehen. Ich habe sie nur gerochen. Ich ging in den weißgetünchten Stall. Ich hatte die Mutter als Mädchen vor Augen. Sie hatte die Ziege zu melken. Das war ihr Auftrag. Der Krieg war vorbei. Es war der erste Weltkrieg. Der Vater meiner Mutter, mein Großvater, war tieftraurig. Deutschland hatte den Krieg verloren. Und der Kaiser hatte abdanken müssen. Mein Großvater liebte den Kaiser. Mein Großvater hatte hart für das Haus, den Stall und die Ziege gearbeitet. Er war sehr evangelisch. Aber das Wort Karōshi galt für ihn. Karōshi ist Japanisch und heißt Tod durch überarbeiten.
Und jetzt hockte seine Tochter vor der Ziege und molk das Tier. Die Ziege war störrisch und trat nach dem Mädchen. Viele Male erzählte die Mutter von ihren blauen Flecken. Das Melken und Treten dauerte bis zum zweiten Weltkrieg. Der zweite Weltkrieg ging für Deutschland ebenfalls verloren.
Als ich den Stall neben dem Haus meiner Eltern betrat, stieg mir immer dieser strenge Geruch in die Nase. Und mir kamen all die Erzählungen aus der alten Zeit in den Sinn. Die Geschichte über die Ziege aber war für mich die Eindrücklichste.
Kateryna Mezhenska
Peace
Peace is when you are not afraid to speak up.
Peace is when you sleep in your own bed, not in the cellar.
Peace is when you know that you’ll wake up tomorrow.
Peace is not keeping in mind that every word, every step, every breath could be your last.
Peace is knowing you will return home.
When you are able to return to the school you once attended, rather than to its ruins.
Peace is when you can go outside at any moment and find life bustling there.
When you know you will see your home and your family, and that everything will be fine with them.
Peace is when you know that your family members are nearby, rather than far away, living in three other countries.
Peace is seeing and being with your loved ones, whenever you want.
Peace is when you are not separated from your parents by 2,200 km, two borders, the territories of three countries, 25 hours by car, or 21 days on foot.
When you see on the news that Kharkiv has been bombed, and then feel relieved that the bomb hit another district, not the one where your parents live.
Peace is not when you can’t reach your friends for a month and don’t know if they’re alive or not.
Peace is not traveling into the unknown with just a backpack.
Peace is knowing you’re home.
Peace is when your heart and soul are with you, not in Ukraine.
When you live, rather than putting your life on pause.
Peace is to keep making a life for yourself, not to start laying new foundations far from home.
Peace is living in reality and not hoping to go back to something that doesn’t exist anymore—to a whole town that has been destroyed a long time ago, to people who no longer live there.
Peace is not being afraid to see the ruins of your hometown.
Peace doesn’t mean walking around Germany with Kharkiv appearing before your eyes.
Earlier, my eyes would fill with tears when I saw something that reminded me of my old home. Now it is gone: sadness, pain, and longing dropped to the very bottom of my soul, and were buried there, somewhere deep inside. And now whenever something reminiscent of my past life triggers memories, they pop into my mind and immediately disappear into the abyssal void and hardly return with a quiet, barely audible, suppressed cry. It echoes from the tombs where my feelings and experiences are buried.
Peace is when you can visit Grandma and Grandpa.
Peace is when your heart is whole and is not broken every day into thousands of shards by daily harsh reality, and there is no need to put it back together again.
Peace is when you don’t feel empty.
Peace is when you don’t feel lost.
Peace is when you don’t have to experience the pain of loss and carry it with you throughout your life, not knowing how to cope with it.
Peace is the ability to influence and change something, and not the illusion or trying to find some tiny detail that you could keep under control.
Peace is when there is no hatred.
Peace is when people do not wish death upon one another.
Peace is life, not death.
(translated from Ukrainian Russian by Georg Schaaf)
Мир
Мир – это когда не боишься говорить.
Мир – это сон в собственной постели, а не в подвале.
Мир – знать, что завтра ты проснешься.
Мир – когда не думаешь, что каждое слово, каждый шаг, каждый вздох могут быть последними.
Мир – когда знаешь, что вернешься домой.
Когда можешь прийти в школу, в которой учился, а не на её руины.
Мир – когда в любой момент можешь выйти на улицу и там кипит жизнь.
Когда знаешь, что увидишь дом, родных, и с ними все будет в порядке.
Мир – когда знаешь, что твои близкие рядом, а не далеко, живут в трех других странах.
Мир – видеться и быть с родными, когда этого хочется.
Мир – когда тебя с родителями не разделяют 2200 км, две границы, территории трех государств, 25 часов на машине или 21 день пешком.
Не когда ты видишь в новостях, что бомбили Харьков, а потом испытываешь облегчение от того, что бомба прилетела в другой район, не в тот, где живут твои родители.
Мир – это не когда не можешь дозвониться друзьям месяц и не знаешь, живы они или нет.
Мир – это не ехать с одним рюкзаком в неизвестность.
Мир – знать, что ты дома.
Мир – это когда твоё сердце и твоя душа находятся с тобой, а не в Украине.
Когда живешь, а не ставишь жизнь на паузу.
Мир – продолжать строить жизнь, а не начинать класть фундамент заново вдали от дома.
Мир – когда живешь в реальности и не питаешь надежды вернуться к тому, чего уже не существует – в целый город, который уже давно разрушен, к людям, которые там уже не живут.
Мир – не когда боишься увидеть руины своего родного города.
Это не когда гуляешь по Германии, а перед глазами возникает Харьков.
Раньше мои глаза наполнялись слезами, когда я видела что-то, что напоминало мне о моем прошлом доме. Теперь этого нет: грусть, боль и тоска опустились на самое дно моей души, они были там захоронены, где-то глубоко. И сейчас, когда что-то похоже на мою прошлую жизнь, вызывает воспоминания, они всплывают перед глазами и тотчас же проваливаются в пустоту бездны и еле-еле возвращаются тихим, чуть слышным сдавленным криком. Это эхо отражается от могилы, где похоронены мои чувства и переживания.
Мир – когда можешь поехать в гости к бабушке и дедушке.
Мир – когда сердце целое и не разбивается о суровую реальность каждый день на тысячи осколков, и его не приходится собирать снова.
Мир – это когда нет ощущения пустоты.
Мир – когда ты не чувствуешь себя потерянным.
Мир – когда не переживаешь боль утраты, и не несёшь её через всю жизнь, не зная, как с этим справиться.
Мир – это возможность на что-то повлиять и что-то изменить, а не иллюзия и попытка найти хоть какую-то мелочь, которую действительно можешь контролировать.
Мир – когда нет ненависти.
Мир – когда люди не желают друг другу смерти.
Мир – это жизнь, а не смерть.
Mohaddeseh Hossini
This heart
People break your heart; words break your heart.
But this heart…
This heart blossoms from love and kindness.
It blooms from cracks and fractures.
This heart knows the taste of love.
This heart knows the pain of wounds.
And yet, this heart still beats despite all this coldness.
It beats among the screams, among the longing, among the loneliness,
Among all these black-and-white days — this heart beats…”
(translated from Farsi 7.12.2022)
این قلب
مردم قلبت را میشکنند، حرفها قلبت را میشکنند.
اما این قلب…
این قلب از عشق و مهربانی ها شکوفه میزند.
از میان ترکها و شکستگی ها گل میدهد.
این قلب طعم عشق را میداند
این قلب درد زخم ها را میشناسد.
و اما این قلب باز هم با تمام این سردی ها میتپد.
در میان فریادها میتپد
در میان دلتنگی ها
در میان تنهایی ها
در میان تمام این روزهای سیاه و سفید، این قلب میتپد…
AMINA DIEHL (AMIE)
The Shoe
We were handcrafted. From cowhide. It was during a summer evening that we came to our owner. And it was on a starry summer night that I became separated from him. To be more precise, I was stolen while he slept in a state of exhaustion and slumber. He consistently slept with his shoes on, as he preferred to be prepared. Rarely did he find himself sleeping inside a house or in a bed. Upon my transition to my new owner, he was in such a profound sleep that he remained oblivious to the fact that he had lost me. I am the right shoe. That’s all my new owner needed. Up to that moment, he had to walk barefoot utilizing a crutch. He was very happy about me fitting so well.
(translated from German by the author)
Der Schuh
Wir wurden von Hand gearbeitet. Aus Rinderleder. Es war an einem Abend im Sommer, als wir zu unserem Besitzer kamen. Und es war in einer sternenklaren Sommernacht, als mein Beitzer mich verlor. Genauer: Ich wurde im gestohlen, als er erschöpft schlief. Er schlief stets mit seinen Schuhen an den Füßen, denn er wollte bereit sein. Er schlief selten in einem Haus, in einem Bett. Als ich zu meinem neuen Besitzer wechselte, schlief er so tief, dass er nicht bemerkte, wie er mich verlor. Ich bin der rechte Schuh. Mein neuer Besitzer hat nur diesen einen Schuh nötig. Bislang musste er barfuß laufen mit seiner Krücke. Er war sehr glücklich, dass ich ihm so gut passte.
(written 7.11.2025)
georg schaaf
for omer adam othman (1990 tendalti, sudan – 2025 münster, germany)
map
tell me, just what is it like to make a map?
i mean a true map,
one that dissolves distances
and lets places walk around,
like its people;
one that tells stories
that speaks none and all languages.
one that is fleeting
like a beautiful moment
that leaves you forgetting farewells.
(translated from German by the author)
für omer adam othman (1990 tandalti, sudan – 2025 münster, deutschland)
landkarte
sag, wie entsteht eigentlich eine landkarte?
ich meine eine echte landkarte,
eine, die entfernungen aufhebt
und orte wandern lässt,
gleich ihren menschen;
die geschichten erzählt,
die keine und alle sprachen spricht.
eine, die flüchtig ist
wie ein schöner moment,
der den abschied vergessen macht.
Mohaddeseh Hossini
Another me
On another planet, in another galaxy, millions of light-years away from here, there is a me who is satisfied.
There is a me who laughs, there is a me who cries.
A me who is not neutral and numb. A me who is not lost…
A me who loves, and a me who still has you.
I am in need of that me who knows what it feels like and does not drown in the hours and memories of the past.”
(written 9.10.2022, translated from Farsi 14.11.2022)
منی دیگر
در یک سیاره دیگر، در یک کهکشان دیگر، میلیونها سال نوری دورتز از اینجا منی وجود دارد که راضی است.
منی وجود دارد که میخندد، منی وجود دارد که گریه میکند.
منی که خنثی و بی حس نیست. منی که گم نشده…
منی که عاشق است و منی که هنوز تورا دارد.
من نیازمند آن منی هستم که میداند چه احساسی دارد و در میان ساعتها و خاطرات گذشته غرق نشده.
AUTHORS
Georg-D. Schaaf M. A., Late Roman and Byzantine Archaeology, has been working as editorial freelancer in humanities since 2008. Since 2016, based in Münster, he has been performing bilingual readings of modern Arabic political poetry, together with Prof. Dr. Abdo Abboud, Comparative Studies for Arabic and German literature (ArDeLit.net).
The Afghan poet from Iran Mohaddeseh Hossini is actively engaged with Cactus Junges Theater (Youth Theater). In 2025 she was on stage with here bilingual prose piece “Fliegen im Fallen” (Flying while falling), combining music and text: “Those who listen fall into a deep void, but are taken care of and fly toward an uncertain future with gentle optimism”. https://cactus-theater.de/veranstaltung/fliegen-im-fallen/
Gregor Bohnensack, a social pedagogue, has been active for many years as performer, author, and musician with numerous stage appearances and performance art events in Münster and far beyond. https://www.instagram.com/gregorbohnensack?igsh=MTBoaDF3NWxkeXNtZw==
Again Cactus Junges Theater: Kateryna Mezhenska from Kharkiv, Ukraine, has been active in writing now for a rather long time. In Münster she has been engaged in developing a play on utopian realism (“Golden Futures”, on stage in February ’25) as part of the company Cactus Junges Theater. https://cactus-theater.de/veranstaltung/golden-futures-5/
Amie (Amina Diehl) can be described as an activist for resilience in conflicts, especially through literature, music and arts. For many years now she has been engaged in the association Evangelisches Forum Münster e.V. She used to work at different schools as a German language and philosophy teacher, including for some years in Riga, Latvia.
