A poem related to Lisbon “Azulejos” Murals.
Whose “Azulejos” is that? I think I know.
Its artist is quite happy though.
Full of joy like a vivid sky,
I watch him laugh. I cry hello. Let’s talk.
He gives his “Azulejos” a kiss,
And laughs until his belly aches.
The only other sound’s the break,
Of distant passengers and the last train.
The “Azulejos” are white, blue, and deep,
But he has promised to do more
After wine and lots of sleep.
Sweet dreams come to him cheap.
He rises from his comfortable bed,
With thoughts of more blue and white paintings in his head,
He eats his blueberry jam with lots of bread and coffee.
Ready for the day ahead.
Note: “Azulejos” is the Portuguese name for tiles.
Thank you, friends
