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
Vida Nenadic
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-am-not-going-to-tell-you-the-name-of-the-city/
