As if they were escaping
The wandering swallows
Are like a quiet Babel without language
They go towards the sea
Flying among clouds
To Juan de Beriain and Michel Labéguerie
swallows of the Basque language
The Whale and the Boat
I live in a glass house. It is very pretty but fragile, just like dreams. Then I think about the cozy shelter that Pitxitxi the cat owns beyond the sea and where all mice live peacefully.
I have met thousands of cats in the world, each speaking its own language, a foreign language like yours. They are usually mouthless cats, living in borrowed time in an unstable way.
I take my small suitcase and I close the door heading for the sea. My voice will never be silenced.
It is a whale which throws water through its backhole. The boat is waiting for me. Where will it lead me to?
My paper boat does not have silver nails
It is a nutshell, a pile of logs badly tied
Through the cracks a little water leaks
Sometimes more than a little
But I am not scared, we have a wonderful sun
I am used to sailing in a voyage of blackness from the Black Sea to blacker seas
There are too many people, among the mass of human trunks
Numb by the humid wind blowing and with marine salt in my lips,
The prow can frighten anyone
But me, oh, how crazy! I cannot even swim!
If I could, really, what would that matter?
If I were a bird I would fall into the snare
If a whale,
In the net trap of the drowned bodies that water swells
If I reached the shore I would be arrested and
With the admiration of the shaky and freezing light of the prison cell
I could still be beaten to death in some barracks on the coast
Juankar Mugartza
