The wind of Warsaw

I left my shoes
on the threshold of that old door.

For some reason
I never picked them up again.

It happens.

In my head
the same uncertain days
that keep coming back
like night trains.

You used to say the world is a small place.
Where are you now?

It was windy in Warsaw today.
The sort of wind
that ruffles your thoughts
more than your hair.

I thought of you
while I was waiting for the traffic lights to turn green.

Don’t ask me for directions.
The map was burnt a long time ago.

People with too many directions
rarely get anywhere.

Before this glass dust
enters our lungs,
before the wind of Warsaw
erases our faces —

listen.

My heart still searches
for your shore.

I’ve cut the sky into strips
to find some meaning
in the labyrinth of memories,
in the almost invisible colour
of your eyes.

Wait for me
on the other side of the dream,
where all our ‘what ifs’
no longer exist.

Our little journey
against the tide.

Somewhere
between the silence
and the urge to disappear.

This is what we are now:
two voices
that every now and then
still seek each other out
amidst the city’s din.

My voice
still searches for your words.

My cry
stirs up the settled dust.

And only in this truth
do we remain free.