The Puerto Rican Literature Project

The stallion is proud,

and uncaught.

For no matter how many 

before have been caught and tamed. 

This one is not.

And it is this proudness 

that tortures 

the weak minds of his pursuers.

And it is one battle of pride.

The captor and his captive.

For after all, 

man in all his greatness 

must indeed – if by no other way, 

than by hurting, lashing and beating, 

to change that 

which he is not able to understand.

For its beauty, 

but the stallion is swift.

And his taste of freedom, 

powers his body, 

to continue his flight. 

The path runs with him. 

His familiar home 

protects him and caresses him. 

While his pursuers stumble and mumble, 

but the stallion is strong and fierce, 

fighting and pursuing,

oppressors of his freedom. 

And he lashes at the whip of fenced-up space.

For he knows of the wind of freedom. 

That runs with you. 

Breezing by, 

Cooling every open pit 

of pores on your skin.

The stallion is black, 

and the dark night 

provides a blanket, 

in which the seekers of his captivity 

will blindly 

turn and wait. 

For the morning light,

to betray once more 

his existence.