days of sleeping city /lodz/

The third day of celebrations. It’s an early afternoon and it’s raining. Houses are crying.

Someone foreign website posted a note: “Lodz, 66 years after war, still looks the same”.

Walls are black from smoke. Windows broken from grenade explosions. Streets are deserted.

A few people pass by, eyes hidden under their hoods. They look like they’re trying to hide their identity. Built especially for lodz days, a merry-go-round spins with no one on it. Unmounted horses, undriven cars.

It’s as if each inhabitant of this city lost a family member.

In a few hours the concert will begin. Someone will sing to an audience of drunk men.

I’m sure that somewhere here hides the spirit of better times. Somewhere here hides the courage of Polanski, the gentleness of Schiller, the enterprising spirit of Poznanski…

This city is sleeping. It’s potential frozen.

But I imagine, in my minds eye, a crowd flowing through Piotrkowska. I see shining windows, that stare sharply at the sunrise. I see strong foundations, smiling faces and their honest eyes which seem to say: “have a nice day”.