BAKU, I DREAM OF YOU

A man climbing a steep street in Old Town, Baku, Azerbaijan, 2016.

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BAKU, I DREAM OF YOU
Do you know that I still dream of you?
I dream of your pigeons and houses,
and of your small, ugly apartment blocks
rimmed to the neck with gas pipes.
I dream of your monochrome streets,
among which Zaha's genius shines
in white, and stands out like a drop of blood
on your oil-perfumed face.
I dream of your trees - the lone wolves,
covered in a thin veil of dust,
and I dream of your golden teeth,
and I dream of your Flag Square,
and the bustle in front of the Nizami metro station.
I dream of your voice too — in a glass full of wind,
and of your empty benches on the shore, early in the morning.
I dream of you, I dream of you, my Baku -
how you keep injecting me every Friday
with the solitude of the sixth and the seventh days,
and how I love you even more for that.
I dream about how I’m losing you, but you don't care at all.
Because you don't need me; only I need you.
That's why I dream of you, Baku.
aa / 2023