A Prayer for Madrid
Make us a church, Jesus.
Build your church.
Your dream.
Your mission.
A church that loves You
passionately, ridiculously, fearlessly
a church that loves Madrid
passionately, ridiculously, fearlessly
a church that loves Madrid’s people
the raging, noisy, young wallking botellones
the ears above aching for quiet
the pushers, shovers, pickpockets
at the rastro
on the metro
the old ladies with fans
the moms pushing designer strollers
the moms carrying one, holding the hand of a string of 2 more
the tattoed, the pierced, the dyed
the stoned
the prostitutes and the men who pay
convinced they’re worth only what they charge, no more
the rest of us who choose not to see
the homeless in tunnels, on benches, on curbs
on stoops, under cardboard, under the free metro newspaper
the too young girls with too short skirts
the boys and men who follow behind
enjoying the view
the students
the parents
the kids
the sleepy club-goers crawling home at 7 a.m.
the goth community
the gay community
the church community
catholic and protestant
the muslims
the gypsies
the ones who throw trash down
the ones who pick it up
the often dirty, always hilly, winding streets
the graffiti artists
panaderias and perfumerias
plazas upon plazas
sangria
tortilla
olives
all on a terraza at 2 a.m.
friends
families
cien pesetas
The Madrid I see, I love
You love more
passionately, ridiculously, fearlessly.
Make us a church
Make us love Madrid.
