The smell of tapas on la Rambla
takes me back a thousand weeks
I feel your skin as dewdrops on my glass
Your hair as raven wings
Your hand had settled as a cat in mine
that’s when I sunk
into the wells, the suffocating waves
of water in your eyes.
And as parting plea I said:
“Whisper love in Catalan
before my train is leaving – say:
T’estimo, t’estimo molt,
With sea our witness
Please whisper love in Catalan”
And still in Gambas al ajillo
of you; as silent as before.
You never whispered love in Catalan.
I have to do all the poems I can to be able to reach 30 during this month, so therefore I present this melancholia as a poem. Hope it works for you. I love Barcelona, but I have never had any affairs there, but I have enjoyed the gambas on la Rambla.
Friday Fictioneers is a community of bloggers that write 100 word stories every week to the same picture, this is under the stewardship of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, and attracts around 100 entries every week.
April 29, 2015