Ara mateix [English translation]

Right now I'm threading this needle

With the thread of a purpose that I'm not declaring

And I start to patch it all. None of the wonders

That were announced by illustrious magicians

Have become true, and the years go by quickly.

From nothing to a little, and always facing the wind,

I've tread such a long road filled with anguish and silences.

And we are where we are; it's best to both know and say it

And keep our feet on the ground and declare ourselves

The heirs of a time filled with doubts and renunciations

In which noises have drowned out words

And, with many mirrors, we half-mimic life...

Both longing and complaining are worthless for us,

As is the scornful touch of melancholy

That we wear as a jumper or a tie

When we go out in the street. We barely have

What we have, and nothing more: a determined place

In the history that corresponds to us, and a minuscule

Territory, so we can live it. Let's all

Stand up again and make heard

All of our voices, solemnly and clearly.

Let's shout out who we are, and let everyone hear it!

And when we're done, let everyone dress

As they wish, and to hell with everything else!

For everything is yet undone, and everything is possible!

I.

Let's imagine it lightful, this quietude

That spreads so many echoes never thought before;

Let's imagine it lightful and suggestive, so it fills

The specific space of right now, that space

Where there aren't any surprises whatsoever

And everything is old, and sad, and necessary.

We turned the page a long time ago, and some insist on

Still reading from the same page.

II.

Maybe the secret is that there is no secret,

And we've tread this path so many times

That no one is surprised about it, anymore; maybe

We ought to break with the routine

By making some exaggerate gesture, some

Sublimity that will turn history upside down.

Maybe, as well, the few things that we now have

We don't know how to use rightfully: who knows?

III.

Very slowly, the water wheel turns

And the years pass, or centuries, until the water

Climbs to the highest peak and, glorious,

Announces clarity in all the fields.

Very slowly then, descend

The buckets to collect even more water.

Thus, history is written. Knowing this

Cannot shock nor deceive anyone.

IV.

Far too often, we still divert our glances

And our gestures show both anguish and weaknesses.

Longing, voracious, sucks our eyes

And freezes the marrow of our feelings. Out of all

Our lonely times, this is the darkest,

The most ferocious, and persistent, and bitter.

It's convenient to know this and it's, moreover, convenient

To imagine the future as filled with light and possibilities.

V.

Who else but everyone -and each one of us at his own turn-

Can create, from these present limitations

The place filled with light where all the winds shall be excited,

The windy space where all voices shall thunder?

Publicly, life is compromising us.

Publicly and with all sorts of clues.

We shall be what we want to be. In vain

We escape from fire, if fire won't justify us.

VI.

Neither places nor names nor enough space

To replant the grove; there are also no rivers

Who want to turn back their flow and lift our bodies

Above oblivion. We all know very well

That there aren't open fields for our return,

Not a respite at sea at the time of danger.

Let's place milestones down all roads;

Specific milestones, out of deep plenitude.

VII.

We will share both mysteries and desires

From a very noble and secret source, in that space

In time, where someone will allow us to live.

We will share both projects and curiosity,

Pleasures and sorrows with extreme dignity.

Both water and thirst, love and lovelessness.

All of this together, must give us

A secret aplomb, the desired clarity.

VIII.

In the clef of time and with much suffering.

That's how we can win the fight

That we've been intrepidly engaged in for so long.

In the clef of time and maybe with loneliness,

Gathering, inside each one of us, the power

Of our unity, and projecting it outwards.

Respite after respite at sea, every single day;

Step by step with the willpower of dawn.

IX.

Neither any luscious Easterly wind, nor any

Solemn Westerly wind. It's best for us to know

That there aren't any great mysteries, nor one single bird

With immense wings to protect us; nothing

Of that which they have declared so many times

With a cavernous voice, dark seers.

Let's place one hand over the other and the years

Will lend their stoutness to our every gesture.

X.

We preserved the wind and oblivion,

The integrity of some environments, some projects

In which we watch each other grow and fight, all together.

And now, which dark refusal, which laziness

Destroys the impulse of renewed fury

That almost made us lust for battle?

From the depth of the years shouts, turbulent,

The light from an expectant and prosperous time.

XI.

We shall turn all silences into gold

And our words, into fire. The skin of this return

Gathers the rain, and the struggles

Erase all privileges. Slowly

We emerge from the great well, climbing like ivy,

And not protected by any calamities.

We shall turn our old grief into love

And we will bequeath it, solemnly, to history.