I walk where the myrtle holds its breath. Each arch, a drowsy eyelid; each column, a forgotten verse from the Quran.
No sultan remains, only the echo of a fountain learning to mourn in slow arpeggios. memorias de la alhambra
Here’s a short poetic piece inspired by Memorias de la Alhambra (the famous tremolo guitar piece by Francisco Tárrega, evoking the Moorish palace in Granada): I walk where the myrtle holds its breath
The fountain does not ask time for permission. It keeps pouring its silver language over stones that once held the hem of sultanas. a drowsy eyelid