Hostel Praha

Praha is the sudden storm

that shakes her at our arrival:

noisy, intense, bright,

yet warm, a little suffocating.

Praha makes herself heard, listened to,

she is not one of the old cities

which silently observe

life flowing in their veiny streets.

Praha shouts her welcome to us

with the thud of the old door

with the slamming of the windows

with the creaking of the fan

with the drunken chants on the street

with hasty steps on the stairs

with discussions in the corridors

with laughter on the upper floors.

Praha doesn't sleep and we don't sleep

day and night flow into each other

like the colors of the city's buildings

and the spiers, and the rooftops, and the turquoise of the late evening sky.

We leave again after three days with triple eye bags,

I fall asleep on the bus

under the blazing bright Praha sun

I wake up after a strange dream in pouring rain 

and I forget for a moment that it's June.