Fuimos Los Patitos Feos

We grew up inventing
stories backwards,
breaking a doll
to know what it is,
or stealing coins
on coffee tables.
We were the ugly ducklings
by chance.
We were born different
from everyone else.

We went to school,
we had to learn.
Teachers, old witches
with the smell of paper,
tried to teach us
the importance of three,
the life of some hero
fighting non-stop,
or how to accentuate
the word dad.
While our eyes
dreamed of the sea.

We kept studying,
still not understanding
why they explained to us
that loving was not right,
that sex was trash
for pure people.
Our minds burned
without knowing why.
And so we grew up
to sixteen.

We danced with the Beatles,
sang Yesterday.
We learned a trade
to be able to eat.
Profession artists
of basement concerts.
A piano with ten chairs,
very little to offer.
A sad or happy song to start.
Have a good night.
The show is about to begin!

We told matters
of our reality.
Very cheap costumes,
of poor quality.
Corrientes was a dream.
Who would have imagined
that the ugly ducklings
could reach
to big stages,
neon signs
and a shady businessman
apologizing to us.

And time passed,
what are we going to tell;
absences, disagreements,
other dead ducklings
dreaming so many dreams,
traveling adrift,
hunger, sadness,
sorrow, surprise,
to see that in other lands,
distant geographies,
being free was not strange
and that a poor duckling
could be loved.

The pretty ducklings
went to bathe
and the littlest ones
wanted to stay.
The bigger ducks
wanted to hit us
and, for being different,
out of necessity,
we became swans
to be able to fly.