11. Barcelona

I’d run away to Barcelona

and spend every afternoon

contemplating Gaudí,

save up for a moto, maybe,

try to improve my Spanish

when buying pan and pescado.

I’d walk down the calles without a care,

come back to my little apartamento

and read in a spot with plenty of sol.

 

Yes, I’d run away to Barcelona

and make it my home:

I’d book a flight today and only pack

a small bag of recuerdos and cartas,

call everyone at the airport to say adiós,

if only there was a way to guarantee

that I’d be someone new in Barcelona,

una mujer nueva with a new purpose,

that I could get to Spain without

my fears and my doubts sneaking in, too.

 

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Taken from “Barcelona” by George Ezra

10. Gray

the sea turned gray

and i turned away,

salt at the back of my throat.

it seemed to much to bear

to see the water become dull,

as if dying, as if dead.

as long as the waves crashed

bright along the shore,

i could pretend to carry

the spark inside of me yet.