Holy war – poem

There’s a holy war in Poznan,

a witness knocking weekly at my door

and a bunch of Baptists singing daily in the old market,

while I besiege your shadow

with unforgiving and unforgivable

revolutions of the heart.

Every pretty girl resembles you

and a made up blonde waiting in a bar

has just kissed her prince charming.

Even my dark beer reminds me of you

with your dark hair.

The blonde’s prince has left for a beer

and now she toys seriously with her phone,

while an old couple glances amused at me,

commenting on me, just as you and I

commented on people on our date.

What an oddity, coming to a bar

to think of you,

when I could do it lying on my bed.

It’s so strange to want you so

when I could’ve never met you,

to think of you

when there are so many girls

who resemble you.

At last a pretty girl who isn’t like you,

a blonde with a pointy nose, a slim belle,

and maybe I could kiss her instead of you,

but I’m just a weird guy writing in a bar

and she’s too busy having fun,

and you’re somewhere else and I miss something,

and nothing else matters, with or without you,

until I get home and deal with reality

and I still think of you, but in there

nothing resembles you.

by Juan M.S


I'm a writer born in Argentina, but currently living in Poland. I work as an English and French teacher, translator and copywriter.

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