It was here Phil, on Grafton Street
—a few yards from your statue,
under Dublin’s menacing sky,
amid the silence and cries of drunks—
after leaving Bruxelles at midnight,
I sat on an empty Guinness barrel
and wrote down plans
on the back of a beer mat.
Things I had to do.
Stay away from bars, I swore.
Write poetry.
Cry when I see a sunset.
Fall in love for real.
Play Jailbreak.
Believe in something.
Never give up following my dreams.
Never give up.
Throw stones in a lake.
I promised I would. Like hell I will.
Life always ends up hurting us,
and we always tackle it
by making lists that are of no use at all.

 

–Translated from the Catalan by Ruth Murray