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The Wind.

The wind

The wind is what drives you crazy,

what comb mother’s heads

and wipe off the footprints in the sand.

The wind.

The wind brings water

and brings stones

and raises boats and dreams

and flings them against the floor.

The wind.

The wind who brings fondness for saliva

and blood.

who brings anxiety of swollen limbs;

of broken nets;

of empty baits…

The wind.

The wind that tangles up minds

that confounds sense/ consciousness

and dilutes fear.

The wind.

The wind brings hunger of silt,

thirst of bile,

smell of dead.

Ah, the wind…

The wind that takes and brings

that breaks and drags,

and rips.

The wind.

The wind is that

eager beast,

that capricious,



It is the sea foam on the beach

rottening between the rubbish;

it is the dirty water

and the tied boat.

The wind, yes, the wind.

The wind is the bullit that shoots;

is the murderer;

is the dead.

The wind is free.

by Nuria tesón