Andalusian Dream


Closing my eyes to find

the cobalt sky reaching down to touch

the sea, not knowing whither it ends

or begins


Searching along the shore near Malaga

I hear her shoes tapping

like we were back in Seville and

buying dresses off the streets


Slipping feet in and out of moving sand

Keep raining on, pouring on

Forcing us inside, forcing us to see

ourselves from the outside in

from windows above the dunes


Wait for me, I’ll be there soon

Walking, still walking

I’m coming, running now

I’ll be there

Wait for me,

I’ll find it again

My pink carnation

From that Andalusian summer.



©Prasanta Verma, January 2016