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Poetry of Issue #8
            Spanish Featured: Page 6

Ready to Fly

I decided to become a feather.
And it has been a good decision for my back.
For sake of the weight of the years and the back pain.
It’s a slight way to thinking oneself,
for it lightens the soul to know oneself irresponsible for life’s somersaults,
it’s easier to travel through space being a feather,
consequent to the whims of the wind,
ready for the hurricane and adventure.
Lookout point of a fine hat, over the sea,
or surfing the wind.
Witness of experience, on the crown of redskin chief
or ready for the medicine of fire,
fanning the prayers of tobacco or cedar.

I decided to become a feather.
Be part of death’s black attire
and learn to fly close to the frontier of other dimensions.

I decided to become a feather,
and I am lightning fishing in the lake,
I decided to become a feather and I am the buzzing of the jungle.

I decide to become a feather
and to reveal atoms before the concept of mass,
and without sublimation, learning to walk without dirtying one’s soles.

I decided to become a feather
and convert my tongue into a hummingbird to pollinate your womb,
dragging the rhythm’s outburst
between the water spit by the rock,
and the cornices of the decadent city.
There, in the chimneys. Clothed in coarse smoke,
I decided to become a feather
and protect the eyes from saturation.

It is impossible to escape the pull of the current,
being a bit in an ocean of data,
being subjected
to the course of the solar winds
                                   and the whim of the black hole.

The quantum alternative is simple.
                                   Be a feather.

  Nicolás Linares