Kilometers to the Meeting

Hours drip down the windshield,
In streams of sleepy lights.
I drive through strangers' faces,
Dissolving in neon nights.

None can hold my gaze, none stir my soul inside.
I know the one who matches my pace,
Whose face — through glory or ruin — stays precious in my eyes.

The wind through the window teases my greying hair,
Whispering that old story with patient air:
For true feeling, there's no time, no wall, no line...
A city or a name — it's all divine.

Just kilometers to the meeting,
And the jazz that plays, forever the same,
Eroding the miles of waiting...


You burst into my chest in youth,
With awe of bridges, dreams so wide.
No matter who comes knocking since,
Your image never fades inside.

Now again, like I'm sixteen,
That gentle, sweet unrest returns —
Though time has etched its patterns
On my chest and temples, it still burns.

Is it foolish to love a city so?
This love stretched on time's loom, they say.
A city has a heart, a soul that pounds,
Keeping rhythm with the rain's soft sounds...