Return to me
late at night,
when New York sleeps...
we will watch the nights glow,
from a different perspective.

Return to me 
while the summer is here,
we will revive...
rememberance of old times.
I'll be waiting,
on the crossway,
because I love mild winters.

Return to me
while our thoughts are fresh, 
and the day is 
ready to transpire,
into a low tide-
and watery flamelet.

Return to the city...
even for the last time,
and instead, on the sidewalk,
on our hearts-
we will engrave...
something the storms
could remember...

Return-
not for simple everyday chaos-
but when the moment touches eternity,
we could talk about poetry,
or the faraway shore of ISTRA.

Return
with quiet footsteps,
so the world wouldn't be
insolent and flurried,
and your face not faded,
but joyous with gladness.

Return...
so we could be one 
with the universe,
and in our souls, we will cherish
rememberance,
of the past summers.

Return
to the village, forest, field,
or the street without the number,
and if I don't find you
nevertheless...
I will be dreaming.

Dedicated to Barry Gibb


Posted by Silvana Krculic