cormorant

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The grey day invited you to go for a walk by the water. While you were strolling you remembered your childhood when your father used to take you to the reservoir to fish. In those days there was a lot of water life and dad spent the time fishing whereas you were finding out the pleasures from your body. But now your body and dad are definitively dead. The reservoir was in calm and the smooth water moves your mind to the peace. There was no people, no animals, and no birds. It was only a cormorant laying on a rock. Despite the black colour you could see the mark of the petrol on his neck, his sticky wings and the broken feet of the legs. The bird had flow from the sea to the reservoir to escape from this trendy kind of murder (at the same time the governments had been signing the treaty for the wildness survival one oil tanker ship sank into the ocean spilling the fuel). You threw a piece of bread but the bird honked and flew off. You had never seen a spectacle like this and unexpectedly you got depressed. The bird was flying like this trip was the last. You heavily started to follow him -running more and more fast; soon you were into his mind, floating in the air and suddenly you’re the cormorant. And just now all people around the world can see your journey across the ocean, overflying the vast and green grassland and climbing the rock mountain. Despite the black colour people can see the scratch in your skin produced by the wild animals and the marks of the slave traders’ whip, and maybe for this reason, the human race gives you her sincere good wishes as you’re landing on the white house. May, 2008. A tribute to b. obama, next world president. 3º eoi, writing.

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doce de noviembre de dos mil doce