Clash the colors on the Castillan canvas along the cream cathedral,
I cross away…
To the dream painted scenery etched along the winding Spanish walk,
Where the Tormes river runs to night,
Light drops, and let rise the indifference of stars over a Roman bridge.
The bulls run rampant
Across millennia, splash the turquoise waters of El Mediterráneo, I am baptized.
Renaissance realized, far from original birth, death of my previous art form,
A vibrant resurrection,
Hispania’s heavenly hearth painted white in nostalgia, salvation.
Marking my own map, my life’s path,
I cling to made memories
Of Leon, Castile, Andalusia and Catalunya as my façade of peace in mind.
On my spirit once orphaned,
Madre Iberia, cut my veins to bleed Red, Yellow.
Joshua Nicolás Prits 