In my dreams, there’s not enough

Of New Belgrade’s block’s

I always start at 70th

Because once upon a time

Everyone mine used to live here

At the skyscraper at Yuri Gagarin street

(In my dreams)

Between bus stop and the block

There are hyper markets, bazaars, kebab sellers

If I go to bed hungry

(in my dreams)

I go there so often,

That I know precisely what’s placed where at the bazaar

And at the hypermarkets

Sometimes there are pharmacies, fairs, fish markets , and also

A department store in which all stuff is designed by me and is sold

Exclusivey here 

Behind the  fish market, just before block 70, is  Knez- Mihajlova street,

A half of it here, another half in Podgorica, and then it stretches all the way  to Zagreb’s suburbs

Promenade Lázaro Cárdenas which ( really)spreads across the block, starts somewhere in Ljubljana at  Cankar Hall…

Via Mostecka street from block 70  i continue into the night,

There are no street lights  

But, luckily, ( in my dreams)

Sun sets late

If it sets at all

The problem is with transportation

Last bus is leaving at midnight

And while distraught  tourists in Prague in vain look into the abyss

At the end of Charl’s bridge

Where Mostecka street used to be

And they wonder why on earth

Would a historic Prague street

Ran away to the concrete blocks of some other city

Which even isn’t situated in Czechs

 ( and its name itself says the street belongs to a bridge!)

( in my dream)

The street looks at me silently and it is as if it’s doubting the decision it made

 I am comforting it

I am telling her that for a long time in its midsts

At number 15 was an Embassy

Of a country which exists no more

This part of the city to which we are fleeing

Mostecká street and me

It also has a river and a bridge

And everyone speaks the language

Which has almost forgotten

And thus stone by stone

Street by street

I rebuild magical city from my childhood

Fairy city in which

Miracles are still possible

I am still a little girl

Bubbe is still alive

We cross the river by raft

Bubbe takes me to Mediterranean gardens

We eat delicious ripe figs at any time of the year

And we inhale the scent of a rose garden in bloom

While Zdravko Colic in the garden (in a dream)

sings “…Beautiful, you’re welcome into my life

Beautiful, the ice has already broken

Here, I’ll shoot three times into the air

Let them ask whats is the celebration. “

Cunning card player in a black coat       

In his hand holds a small Hungarian deck of cards

he’s looking for a third player for preference game

My grandmother turns into a girl

Quite young young and polite

She’s telling me I’ll  miss the last bus

(in my dreaam) I recall my mother’s dream

That morning she got up  all scared

Two Hunfarian men wearing long dark coats

Came to take away Pishta, our cat

He belongs to them, they said

My mother is screaming (in her dream )

She won’t let the cat

He’s name by passport is Davidi

Little David

We call him Pishta just like that

They say, Pishta is deminutiv of Ishtvan

The cat is coming with us

Full stop

( I am forgetting to ask my mother in which language did they converse..)

The nice girl who used to be my grandma

Discreetly points her ornate Longines watch

I’ll miss the last bus

Somewhere nearby the bells ring

The wind carries the smell of roasted chestnuts…