El Que Calla Otorga

As a kid, I didn’t like books or the priest’s robes,
not even joining the parade,
I was as disobedient as the west wind,
wild and playful,

instead of looking up at the sky,
I started measuring the ground I had to walk,
and I never followed the herd,
because neither the shepherd nor the master were trustworthy,

like the one who stays silent, consents,
and even though ignorance is deaf,
I could raise my voice,
louder than the barking of spoiled dogs
and the voice of the shepherd,

I started racing
through shortcuts and narrow paths meant for me,
and my neighbors said
I was taking the wrong path, far from the fold,

I’ve always been that black sheep
who knew how to dodge the stones thrown my way,
and as the years go by,
the more I drift from the herd because I don’t know where it’s headed.