I am not going to tell you the name of the city <br />in which my steps are still searching for me. <br /> <br />I am not going to tell you the name of the city <br />whose bridges are longer than life. <br /> <br />I am not going to tell you the name of the city <br />under whom even the sky was like a tent. <br /> <br />I am not going to tell you the name of the city <br />in which I learned to start up a new journey as soon as I arrive. <br /> <br />I am not going to tell you the name of the city <br />which is never to grow old. <br /> <br />I am not going to tell you the name of the city <br />in which I met the eyes with the color of the sky. <br /> <br />I am not going to tell you the name of the city <br />in which I was knocking on my own doors from inside. <br /> <br />I am not going to tell you the name of the city <br />which was a cage far too small for my wings. <br /> <br />Vida Nenadic<br /><br />Vida Nenadic<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-am-not-going-to-tell-you-the-name-of-the-city/
