Inspired by live event
on Ramblas Boulevard, Barcelona
Barcelona… Summer raining night…
Gentle shower sprinkles down the faces.
In the whole world the only light:
It comes straight to me from Spanish Artist spaces.
He is so much tired of hard work.
He would take a nap in cozy house
And exchange soft brush to metal fork,
But he’s painting me in blue silk blouse.
He is sketching portraits day by day,
Everything he sees - it’s his addiction.
People walking, watching, by the way,
Making stories of his talent’s fiction.
Someone is just simply passing through,
Floating like a shadow by his chair.
Someone is composing a review:
Model and his work to be compared.
He is living in his special world,
There is no path to his possession.
There are no idols, money, gold,
All his movements followed by compassion.
He is calm and shy, not recognized,
Taking masks away from people faces.
All his life, the strangers realize,
Puzzled on the easel of oil laces.
People singing, swinging in the dance.
Sounds of music made by Jazz musicians.
Taro cards predict you nice romance,
All you need - just simple recognition.
You can see so much of magic blast
At this time on Ramblas Boulevard raining.
It’s your future, present, it’s your past
And it will be in your heart remaining.
You are running off the horse’s coach
And your soul comes extremely tender.
You can be so easily approached,
You don’t mind becoming a surrender.
Barcelona… Sunday raining night…
So much noise from each and every chartist.
There is no one in the evening light:
Only Me and Special Spanish Artist…
Barcelona, Barcelona – you are beautiful Madonna.
You are crystal constellation, you are my imagination.
You will be with me forever, I will not forget you, never.
Barcelona, Barcelona, Barcelona…
Wrote in July 2006 in Russian
Translated into English in August 2008