Leaves crumble under unwashed trainers; silence He walks along the avenue with hands in pockets, As street lamps pave the way along the lonely avenue A Hen Party is sighted; their noisy presence noticed Out of nowhere a taxi rolls up, a casualty is claimed He gazes at the midnight stars and smiles Like a fantasy; a big bubble that hasn’t yet burst Conversing and gentle laughter picks up at the street corner, Whilst crowds of hipsters and young people dance and discuss As Friday nights go; rules are meant to be broken As this quaint little place provides an escape from it all With its neon signs and hippy vibes, Its bonsai trees and chandeliers Bikes hang from the walls and flower pots roam free He is greeted by an Ola! and a welcoming smile A piano sounds from within, a cold breeze chills his neck He rolls up his collar and enters; silence
i grew up on pączki not on krispy kreme polish american boy being the translator for my parents telling the grocery workers "proszę cztery jabłka" because my parents couldn't
until i left i didn't realise how much i would miss pączki, flaki, pierogi i didn't realise how much i would miss the sludgy winters and beautiful springs and i didnt realise id never see my home again
it's been four years and i dream of going back to the markets and the parks to the ruins where i grew up
but it's going to be a while till i eat a good pierogi again. ive accepted that but poland will always be one of my homes and i can't wait i cant wait to go back.
ive seen the world all people same we love we fear, deprived, insane absolute mass and no division for the HQ supervision we are Trialed in side by solicitude at night blindfolded OF! superiority of those that are biting in our nose medicating under-eighteen that appear so differently and thus don't reap the boredom we are destined to live through im sorry that I'm different and I'm sorry that I speak for the nation of the flowers all fragile but not weak
Eurasia. They both know this kind of euphoria The supercontinent pangaea, And everything about synesthesia Eurasia; The Europe and Asia Once united but are meant to be divided Seperated, harshly tormented lands of promises, broken into pieces Eurasia. Even they both had amnesia, their love's engraved in historia and when Europe finally found Asia They will clearly remember, they're still Eurasia
I love writing this poem. It means so much to me. See you soon, Europe.