Vaig Com Les Aus

I fly like the birds when they have lost their child, circling without finding solace, with blood-curdling cries alerting their flock as if the world was in great danger. They circle tirelessly around the place where their child was left, not believing the truth because it would cause them much greater torment. From morning until the day ends, their restless movements disturb the space, they say that their pain will never fade, since they will never have their child around again. Only at night, defeated by the wreckage, they return to the nest like a deserted castle, feeling their heart suddenly dark and old, falling asleep to the sound of the rock. The next day, with a painful flight, abandoning the nest, the tree, and the river, they go in search of a more joyful place: but their child is nowhere to be found. That's how I am, lost within myself, endlessly seeking myself. But I am mute and my lament is mute, because my pain is trapped inside my throat.