When I am distracted, there is always a Brussels waving with thousand homes
There is a promise buried in the ash, tries to crack the standstill image
There is a pub reserved for strangers, who recharge their phones and vanish with the leffe’s foam
There is a space where faces loom, lurching like the unnamed dreams,
There is an oasis of multiple lights, and meadows of hope that always bloom
There is a square for the forgotten details, the scattered languages, not rife fashion
There is an aged welcoming door, absorbs your passion, before you step in.
How, I feel that I am lost, and I have a Brussels concealed like dove,
in my imagination
its compass always refers to the endless love..