Barcelona in My Dreams, a poem by Ingrid at Spillwords.com
Logan Armstrong

Barcelona in My Dreams

Bracelona in My Dreams

written by: Ingrid Wilson

@Experimentsinfc

 

Come walk with me along the streets
of Barcelona in my dreams
one rainy April afternoon when I arrived
beneath the Fabergé-egg domes
of the Museu del Toro;
to wander gridiron, gridlocked streets of Eixample
with Gaudi’s masterpiece
crowning the distance, come
and lose yourself among these streets
with me.

Take hands with me and walk along the beach
of Barcelona in my dreams
the strand of manmade sand
where I washed up
an alien
upon the shores of the Mediterranean:
bewildered almost-tourist
struggling to decipher
packets of cereal
and washing powder.

Let’s sail around the port with Las Golondrinas
but yet not venture out
into the open water
dreaming of Las Islas Baleares:
Menorca, Ibiza, Mallorca
away from party-goers,
hid away from Las Ramblas
in secret streets
where revolution played out
heralding the Civil War.

Seek sanctuary with me within the walls
of old
Santa Maria del Mar
her gothic splendour laid bare by
the fires of Anarchists;
see Gaudi’s dreams in her high arches spanning heaven;
pause and say a prayer
then light a candle in remembrance
of this
our sacred hour.

In the Parc de la Ciutadella let us walk
under the palms
where once the loathèd citadel stood tall
imposing rules
of the outsider
on a population chained
yet free in mind
to dream new dreams, Art-deco forms and frescoes:
dreams to come
and dreams which I must leave behind.

Walk hand in hand with me
along the broad streets of
Passeig de Gracia:
La Manzana de la Discordia;
Casa Batlló – The House of Bones
which sleeps beneath a serpent’s skin
or La Pedrera
where we play chess on the rooftops
for each other’s souls and
wonder who will win?

The heavenly jury still in recess
holds out on this point
gods toy with us
we wander
separate, shipwrecked shores
still dreaming,
but I know that
I’ll find my way back:
Adéu, Adijo, Adiós
There is one universal language we all speak.

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