Waiting for the Morning by Branka Vojinovic-Jegdic

An abandoned building
with a rotten roof
has become now

my sweet home
the dome of my dreams

collapsed forever
like never, my life is in ruins
and lost its dignity and gleam.

Our old, frosted bones
we heat by the fire

the bottle circles,        

forgive me my Lord,

each man has his story

speaking of misery

for bitterness is too late

we are faced with such a bad  fate.

Without own shelter

in brotherhood of       

these homeless men

hungry and almost bare

mist creeps into our hair
without job and hope

the morning brings us

a street washing truck.

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Waiting for the Morning by Branka Vojinovic-Jegdic