I want Berlin again
tucked away in my pocket
The Brandenburg Gate my sanctuary.
I want Berlin,
strawberry-eating
in abandoned airports
adventure-seeking
in sunsets and people,
getting lost on the metro
between Hermannstraße and Alexanderplatz,
finding myself again
along the U-Bahn route.
Berlin in me
in my bones and in my hair
breathing with me
the unapologetic me
the kind of free England couldn’t offer
the kind of free he couldn’t offer.
I want Berlin again
until I’ve drank enough culture
danced with more than one stranger.
I need her April warmth
to kiss me the way he couldn’t
to suck the English rose
and all her thorns from my body
plant cornflowers in my lungs instead.
I need you, Berlin, all to myself
need soil unspoiled by his touch
because the German word for love
is silk on my tongue
even if love itself is acid in my throat.
Words by Nabeela Saghir
Photo by Umar Saghir