The station, the kids, the soup kitchen, the countless toys,
the announcements, the people in yellow hi-vis. 

Mum, are we going to live here now?
Do they have Kiev Bread here? 
What should we say so that people understand us?

Smiling, friendly eyes of strangers,
Carriages full of grief, pain, war.
I wanted to leave them behind on the platform, but they have a long reach.

And then the sign: Go left if you stay in Berlin.
I still don’t know the answer.