I Am Not Going To Tell You The Name Of The City
I am not going to tell you the name of the city
in which my steps are still searching for me.
I am not going to tell you the name of the city
whose bridges are longer than life.
I am not going to tell you the name of the city
under whom even the sky was like a tent.
I am not going to tell you the name of the city
in which I learned to start up a new journey as soon as I arrive.
I am not going to tell you the name of the city
which is never to grow old.
I am not going to tell you the name of the city
in which I met the eyes with the color of the sky.
I am not going to tell you the name of the city
in which I was knocking on my own doors from inside.
I am not going to tell you the name of the city
which was a cage far too small for my wings.
Vida Nenadic
poem by Vida Nenadic
Added by Poetry Lover
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