where is home we flew above
with the kite and
all those children
running around- those who
stole our cherries
in an early spring
Now we fear crazy machines
with noise that deafens our hearts
Where are all those
curly ginger hair girls
I used to love more
than any broken car toys
more than swimming
in the pond nearby
Where are those teachers
who used to sew thier dresses
to a local Tailor
and all of them looked
like conserved sardines
we used to import from Croatia
Where are those breaths
we used to lend to
the butterflies so they
may turn to a silkworm
fed by the Mulberry leaves
Where are those dads
that shouted and taught us
courtesy and humbleness
and those Moms that
washed and cleaned our outfit
fed us with freshly made poridge
before going to school
Some decades after
a plane flew above the plot
of green darnel where was the home
so cozy, so warm and
smelly by the pot cooking
the white beans with the mint leaves
and celery
we so miss now
that flying with the kite
