La memoria del azahar

Dear readers, let me for once, share with you a poem about on of the most important place in my life: Spain. The poem is in Spanish and talks about orange blossom.

This is not the kind of post you are used to, but it was important for me to share it. This is also one of the sensation and inspiration I got when I was traveling in the South of Spain in March.

It is my small tribute to this red dry soil, amazing colors and spicy smells and generous people I met, crossed and reunited. Only for Spanish speakers, this time.... 




Está grabado en mi alma
El olor cabezón a azahar
Ya en frente de Málaga
Mientras el coche bajaba hacia el mar


El cielo azul imaculado e profundo
En mis ojos está grabado
La luz intensa y solar
En mi piel está tatuada
Y este olor cabezón a azahar
Está grabado en mi alma

Ha Llamado a mi memoria
Imagenes de Andalucía de otra década
Emociones y sensaciones de otra vida

Mi primer viaje, descubriendo España
Sintiendo esta incontrolable llamada,
Esta imparable urgencia de amar esta tierra

Desde entonces, he encontrado a mi casa
Y este sabor ahora familiar,
Este olor cabezón a azahar
Es parte de mi alma 


 
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