Fish & Urchin

A poem I wrote in Havana back in 2007, originally in Spanish.

I am the seizure of a stance,
the last contractions of a fish out of the sea.

My loquacity is the same as that of the Urchin,
who writes with his quills, tireless complains in the water,
who in his belief caresses him,
fiercely crashing its incorporeality against his daggers.

I found the future of fish
in a net that carried them across their torment,
from the rough sea of ​​which they were prisoners.

They do not suffer any more sway,
now it is the air that welcomes and rubs them,
they can already see the stars without crossing the waves,
and not drink salt with every breath.

They came out,
rescued by a saving net they will no longer have to escape from their predators,
or chase food.
In a few minutes they learned that here it is too thin to float,
that the tails are useless,
and that the weight is more.

The Urchin continues amid the mediums,
when it stops being a dagger … it will be no more,
its existence is,
by stabbing,
much longer lasting.

It has no ears,
It has no eyes,
where it is located nets are not cast,
and all its functions are vital.
(It would seem that it was made only to hurt)

But to the Air and the Sea with so much company … nothing hurts.