I feel in Portugal like a fish in water...

Couldn't fly,
just couldn't fly,
But gave orders for others to fly.
It grew up sitting down and this sad,
unfeathered bird never had wings,
nor song,
nor flight.
But the boss dictated where to fly...

May name is the friendly bird,
bird of a single feather,
a flyer with a clear shadow
and confused clarity ...
I fly,
and I fail to fly,
but I sing and play.
I'm the furious bird
of the tranquil storm.

Friend,
It's your kiss that sings like a 
bell in the water of the submerged cathedral,
through whose windows entered eyeless fish,
dissolute seaweed...