Bells

Poem about the echoes of the past

Somewhere in the world there is a place where bells are ringing at Catholic church early in the morning,

the smells of dawn and freshly baked bread come through the wide open window.



Somewhere in the world I am solitary walking through the concrete jungle.

Deafen by car horns beeping and all cries and smirks of mental town

Traffic lights have blinded my eyes and I got soaked with the smell of takeways

My head is full of drunken thoughts and electronic music from nearby clubs,

Again I pretended that I am part of that all and I have put every effort to nicely blend into the background,

but deep in my heart

the bells are still ringing ...