RECUERDOS DE LA ALHAMBRA

The towers rise as shadows hum
A tremble in the twilight’s grace—
A melody of time undone,
Each note a whisper, soft—displaced.

The Moorish halls with echoes fill,
Of footsteps long since turned to dust,
Yet still they breathe—by music’s will,
An ancient voice in marble’s crust.

The gardens bloom in memory
Of hands that shaped the tender vine
And here, within, the mystery
Of fleeting life, in chords—divine.

Oh, how it winds—this tender air,
A ripple through the orange bloom
As though the past is woven there,
Within the twilight’s fragrant room.

And still, the song, it plays for me
A ghost of Alhambra’s heart
The palace, now, a memory
Yet lives through strings that never part.

:: 10.11.2024 ::