A week ago, on Liverpool streets,
I reminisced about the lost sound
Of a sick person in tangled sweaty sheets,
The painful moaning, which I would have found
~
Weirdly, four years later, here, up North,
I saw crossing paths, but none of them will take
Where I could feel the disease and unhealthy warmth,
I got lost easily, stumbled, and asked for a break.
~
I found the station and the hospital smell,
I choke on it while the train gently rocks
Me to London, and I hope to bid farewell
And leave behind the smell and the docks
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PS. I thought I would never publicly share my poetry, but this is happening.
PS2. So far, I have only written poetry in Polish.
