Identity
- Julio Noboa
1
Let them be flowers,
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always watered, fed, guarded, admired,
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but harnessed to a pot of dirt.
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I’d rather be a tall, ugly weed,
5
clinging on cliffs, like an eagle
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wind-wavering above high, jagged rocks.
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To have broken through the surface of stone
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to live, to feel exposed to the madness
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of the vast, eternal sky.
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To be swayed by the breezes of an ancient sea,
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carrying my soul, my seed beyond the mountains
of time
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or into the abyss of the bizarre.
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I’d rather be unseen, and if,
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then shunned by everyone
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than to be a pleasant-smelling flower,
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growing in clusters in the fertile valley
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where they’re praised, handled, and plucked
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by greedy, human hands.
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I’d rather smell of musty, green stench
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than of sweet, fragrant lilac.
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If I could stand alone, strong and free,
22
I’d rather be a tall, ugly weed.
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