I took the train to Berlin town,
For the lights, the shows, the old renown.
Shen Yun was calling, I took my seat,
Where art and soul and silence meet.
The curtain rose, my thoughts took flight,
In operas’ glow and velvet night.
A world apart from daily haze,
Where beauty danced in ancient grace.
But Berlin’s more than just a stage,
It’s memory’s book, a turning page.
Where books once burned in reckless flame,
I bought a few, and spoke their name.
Heine’s voice still haunts the square,
His warnings floating through the air.
And just across, in quiet shade,
The Wache speaks of dues we’ve paid.
We walked the Linden, side by side,
Past thinkers’ dreams and nation’s pride.
The Grand Hotel, a silent scene,
Where Brecht and Damon once had been.
A gift from Bettina, in my hand –
“City of Flâneurs,” I understand.
We sipped our thoughts at Einstein’s place,
Time slowed down, I found my pace.
Oh Berlin, you’re never done,
Your past and present walk as one.
I go to feel, to learn, to see –
And hope that none forget, like me.
So raise a glass to truth and art,
To every mind, to every heart.
And if you ever feel alone –
Berlin will bring you safely home.
S. Noir