Berlin, 1999
My grandpa dropped bombs
on this city where I live.
The television doesn’t understand me,
not that I have one.
I live like a junkie,
an illegal alien in love
with my strange, new world.
All I see from my window
is one big, fabulous construction site.
The streets are deserted,
but the underground is brewing,
something is fermenting,
drawing people down
from all across the globe.
I miss the sky, the space, the sea,
but there’s another thing here
between the filth, the misery.
There is creation in the air.
From hard, chaotic history,
from surviving through
the long, bleak winter,
or from somewhere else unknown
comes the will to make it,
to stride through the bitter wind
all night long and
to smile at last
when the sun returns.
As parks turn green
and children run free
the city is reborn,
because Berlin knows
the wheel of life
and how to ride it.
