I Miss My Home In My Every Dream

Every time I think about home

There are as many black and white photographs

As I can imagine

Contained in the variation of views ;

My first communion, waist-length hair, white dress

And a huge candle in my hand ;

I was ten years old

Smiling gently on a red background

Like blood

I didn’t know I was going to suffer like this

In my every dream .

There is one street there

Appearing over and over again

Covered in thick mist, yet I’m still

Able to see through

As if it were yesterday ;

Me on rollerblades, me on a bike

Recognition of every fragment

Of the countryside

Which is now

Mostly modernised

Merely reminiscent of my little old world

Where I could go alone, and it always was

Relief for my weary feet

Moving far and far on the horizon .

I think I can still see it there

Those fields, hills, trees, country roads

Emanating with every kind of texture

Depending on the season

Altering accordingly

In the vortex of a hurricane

Repeated over and over again

Further and further until everything will disappear

To appear in a different dream on a different night

*

To Poland – my first, chronologically, home

*

September 2021

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Thank you for reading!