The twins of Catalonia

Beyond the flames, the crowd, the jeers,
lie silent, timeless through the years,
twins of silent beauty, blessed
with Catalan crests upon their breasts.
Born from seed and fertile soil,
and christened with palatial style.

Deep in the valley, wild nature grows,
the river sparkles, ebbs and flows.
Its tranquil echoes of peaceful times,
protect these twins dead in their primes,
a graceful shield from world and war,
like blood of lamb upon their door.

In the shadows of a fearsome mount,
these twins are never called to count,
but guard discreetly upon their rolls
raw secrets of twelve thousand souls
who live and breathe betwixt their pines,
and thrive beneath their hallowed signs.

Though battle rages far away
in streets upon an ancient bay,
these twins stand firm in sombre quiet,
and take no part in needless riot,
but instead bring hope from past to present
that end is near for such torment.

Whilst many come here to adore,
one stands alone atop its tor,
a wounded soul with lonely heart,
draws breath and solemnly remarks:
“far from the tumult and storms above,
‘twas with these twins I fell in love.”

Photo: Xavigivax (CC BY-SA 3.0)

Rebirth

I have walked a thousand streets
and looked into a thousand eyes.
I have dreamed a thousand dreams
and listened to a thousand lies.

I have been in love.
I have lost everything.

I have died.

Now, I have a dream
and maybe you won’t like it.
But I have been to the end of life
and I don’t have any other chances.

I will write everything
and I will work for everything that I want.

I will live only for me.

I promise,
with all my heart,
that the life that I want
is the life that I will have.

Neither from hope nor from despair,
but from the dreams of my life.

Because now, and forever,
this life is mine!

This poem was originally written in Catalan and has been translated into English. As such, it does not flow as well as the original.

At the end of life

A poem for World Poetry Day 2018

Spring has already arrived,
but all I see is dark.
I want to relax on a beach,
but I have to hide myself in a forest.

Life, sometimes, is cruel,
and I ask myself “is it fair?”
It gives us a lot of sadness,
and steals everything from us with a kiss.

They tell me that I have to die happy,
but I can’t do that yet.
The end of life has arrived,
and there is nothing more I can do.

The darkness hides the truth,
that everything is fucked up.
I have never looked for perfection,
but still life is destroyed.

As the leaves age and die,
and the rose which grew is no longer there.
The foundations we built for each other,
and the love that we had is now water.

They tell me that I have to die happy,
but I can’t do that yet.
The end of life has arrived,
and there is nothing more I can do.

Everything I had thought about life,
they have shown me is a lie.
Love doesn’t conquer all,
and they don’t want to hear my cry.

Now I sit here alone,
thinking of everything that has happened.
After all the mistakes I have made,
I have fought, denied, cried.

They tell me that I have to die happy,
but I can’t do that yet.
The end of life has arrived,
and there is nothing more I can do.

I have a final confession,
but I can’t find any words.
How death appears too quickly,
and life has passed like a shot!

We have already prepared my grave,
it is time to say “goodbye”.
As the end of life has arrived,
the last breath, today, is mine.

They tell me that I have to die happy,
but I can’t do that yet.
The end of life has arrived,
and there is nothing more I can do.

The end of life has arrived,
and there is nothing more we can say.

This poem was originally written in Catalan and has been translated into English. As such, it does not flow as well, nor rhyme, as the original.

Poppy

For my niece, Poppy, born 15 February 2018

Welcome to the world, little Poppy,
you have reminded me that life is beautiful.
But when I cradled your fragile body,
I questioned whether life is worthless.

The world is full of sadness and war,
one the one hand, poverty, and death on the other.
But, just as spring follows winter,
you were born after a loss, Poppy.

The name reminds me of a very famous war,
in which millions of innocent people fell.
In commemoration there is a beautiful symbol,
which grew from the fight, the poppy.

With green leaves and red petals,
the poppy reminds us of a very old wish.
That when they give us war, we respond with peace,
we offer tranquility in place of chaos.

The world is shit, we have to confess,
but we possess the key to improve it.
We live how we want and accept the same for everyone,
and also understand, Poppy, that we are only what we are.

You will always be perfect, I can see it in your eyes,
you will give years of happiness to your proud parents.
Whatever happens, remember, forever,
that the life is yours, little Poppy.

This poem was originally written in Catalan and has been translated into English. As such, it does not flow as well, nor rhyme, as the original.

Bon dia, Catalunya

Saturday, 8am, no more can I sleep,
on the balcony I sit, only half-awake, feeling weak.
I spark up a cigarette, sit back in wonder
at what I observe, rolling through the tundra.

Up here, it is peaceful, mostly nature out to play,
save a feint hum of vehicles, in the distance, far away.
The chirping of birds, the crowing of a cockerel,
the call of a wood pigeon, energetic and soulful.

I look out, and around, at the villages in the hills,
houses outnumbered by trees, all calm and still.
The morning sun bounces off everything in sight,
numerous shades of green glisten in the light

Times may be harder in this country paradise,
yet I can’t help but sense a more relaxed way of life.
Though my time here is short, I can’t help but smile and think:
“bon dia, Catalunya, t’estimo moltíssim”.