We do not want to belong to the world of frontiers made of walls.
Where is the frontier between poverty and wealth, truth and lie,
love and hatred, sea and land.
Where is the frontier that separates people, that which so many pursue,
that of birds that migrate in freedom, that of those who set frontiers up the frontiers.
When no frontiers exist among us, we will fly in freedom, always
following the utopia of our dreams.
Tell them that land is not theirs, that people is not theirs, that
-even- stones need to be free.
Tell them that he who denies will be denied by the tenderness of so many voices,
silenced and thirsty.
Nothing lives for ever, not even your problems.

(Ali Salem Iselmu, Sahrawi poet born in 1970, The music of the Sirocco)
Translated from Spanish by Mertxe de Renobales Scheifler