Identity

by Julio Noboa Polanca

 

Let them be as flowers

always watered, fed, guarded, admired,

but harnessed to a pot of dirt.

 

I'd rather be a tall, ugly weed,

clinging on cliffs, like an eagle (5)

wind-wavering above high, jagged rocks.

 

To have broken through the surface of stone

to live, to feel exposed to the madness

of the vast eternal sky.

To be swayed by the breezes of an ancient sea, (10)

carrying my soul, my seed beyond the mountains of time

or into the abyss of the bizarre.

 

I'd rather be unseen, and if,

 

then shunned by everyone

than to be pleasant-smelling flower, (15)

growing in clusters in the fertile valley

where they're praised, handled, and plucked

by greedy, human hands.

 

I'd rather smell of musty, green stench

than of sweet, fragrant lilac. (20)

If I could stand alone, strong and free,

I'd rather be a tall, ugly weed.