Poetry

38. a familiar nightmare: belgrade

1 a familiar nightmare
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Desolation. Dereliction.
Avenues. Vast spaces.
Early evening fog.
Chills down the spine.
Walk on, away, toward.
A cold that penetrates.
A silence by a river that has stopped its flow.
Walking on, walking away.
Quiet companions.
Am I truly lost, or projecting thoughts
Onto the city’s canvas?
I am not comfortable with these
Distances.
With silence.
Familiar nightmare.

In the morning, it is a new
Year.
A beginning in an end.
The point of collision.
Two people.
Culture.
Society.

Bands of gipsies playing through the streets.
I want to dance, dance…
We don’t.
Is this a celebration, I ask, or a funeral?
All the best, you say.
Yes. I see.

There are parts of me I left to die
In that city.
Still, I am not unkind.

There is a little of Belgrade that I’ve kept inside as well.


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2 thoughts on “38. a familiar nightmare: belgrade

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