On the edges
of forgetfulness
there are shadows
playing
and erasing
my memories.
The new time
is in my chest
London is real
as much as the people in it.
People, that share
the same fate.
People,
that came in London
too late.
People, wishing to forget
the pain
which the wars meant.
Vida Nenadic
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem