I Am Not Going To Tell You The Name Of The City Poem by Vida Nenadic

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