City by Vida Nenadic

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's wing

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 far too small cage for my wings