Ode to Alle vrouwen van Amsterdam | To all the women of Amsterdam

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Never out of the ring

She lives on the Singel and is still single 
Sometimes high heels
Sometimes New Balance
But her whole outfit balanced 
She's that tough Bos en Lommer chick 
Sitting on that very expensive moped 
In her left hand a Cosmopolitan 
In her right the latest iPhone that's not out yet 
She walks down the Nieuwendijk with her chin in the air
No Amsterdam arrogance 
But modest airs 
She is streetwise like Sophie 
Makes the best Harira
Plus delicious Johnny Cakes
And all that in the heart of the Jordaan 
The PC Hooftstraat is hers 
Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Chanel
They all notice it 
She is that sex worker 
Who is still her own boss 
She is the portrait of Nouri
The statue of Hazes 
She is an active activist
Is at the front of every demonstration 
She has her own organization fighting gentrification 
She can't afford the rent 
But refuses to move out of the neighborhood
Is miserable as soon as the area code is not 020
She parades around in Patta
Dressed daily in Daily Paper

She's a 95-year-old woman who braved the hunger winter
Dead bodies on the Dam Square 
Fortified by survival instinct
Showing her eternal gratitude to Anne Frank 
She sticks her neck out for Halsema 
She is out of art as Touria
Musical as Judikje
Not a power woman because strength comes naturally as Damsko lady 
She walks the streets at night without a tinge of fear in her body
She still refuses to check in on streetcar 5
Public transport should be free 
Half of the center is closed again
So she (Leiden) leads us to the square 
She's a balmy, summery Saturday night on Tussen Meer 
Miss Tetouan on the catwalk of Nieuw-West
Osdorp looks her eyes out
She's in the ArenA every other week 
Even during a disaster season 
She's hetro, queer, pansexual
She just falls for people 
She is outspokenly pro-Palestine
Justice knows no boundaries 
She's a single mom with a city pass full of hope
She's that long line in front of Tuschinski on a freezing Friday night 
Not the movies 
A sold-out Paradiso 
A packed, alien Melkweg
She is the Vondelpark
Without dirty, old men whistling at her
They never stand a chance
They can whistle at her 
She's that Bijlmer babe who dominates Poortje 
All doors open for her

She is South without the overblown BN'ers
She is the riding school on the Overtoom
She is the Kinkerstraat without Fatbikes
Perhaps an unreal dream 
She goes to Friday prayers
Celebrates Easter like no other 
During Yom Kippur she takes time off 
She believes in me
Blood, sweat and tears is what she gives
She doesn't have a Swap bike 
But a barrel with a worn, forgotten saddle 
Every hour that chain falls off 
But old love does not rust 
She has a soft G, speaks Frisian
With an Achterhoek accent 
Everyone is welcome here 
We put no emphasis on dialect 
She is at Kwaku every year
Has pictures of Sherida Spitse in her scrapbook 
And every time she sees Kluivert's goal
She grabs a handkerchief 
She has already had 750 lives 
She's estimated 750 often enough
She likes me 
But we're too much alike
Maybe in another universe 
And there I'll be with her forever 
Settled down and married
But never outside the ring

Luan Buleshkaj