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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=418222" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Cloudy Day</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is windy today. A wall of wind crashes against,<br>windows clunk against, iron frames<br>as wind swings past broken glass<br>and seethes, like a frightened cat<br>in empty spaces of the cellblock.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the exercise yard<br>we sat huddled in our prison jackets,<br>on our haunches against the fence,<br>and the wind carried our words<br>over the fences,<br>while the vigilant guard on the tower<br>held his cap at the sudden gust.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I could see the main tower from where I sat,<br>and the wind in my face<br>gave me the feeling I could grasp<br>the tower like a cornstalk,<br>and snap it from its roots of rock.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wind plays it like a flute,<br>this hollow shoot of rock.<br>The brim girded with barbwire<br>with a guard sitting there also,<br>listening intently to the sounds<br>as clouds cover the sun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I thought of the day I was coming to prison,<br>in the back seat of a police car,<br>hands and ankles chained, the policeman pointed,<br> “See that big water tank? The big<br> silver one out there, sticking up?<br> That’s the prison.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And here I am, I cannot believe it.<br>Sometimes it is such a dream, a dream,<br>where I stand up in the face of the wind,<br>like now, it blows at my jacket,<br>and my eyelids flick a little bit,<br>while I stare disbelieving. . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The third day of spring,<br>and four years later, I can tell you,<br>how a man can endure, how a man<br>can become so cruel, how he can die<br>or become so cold. I can tell you this,<br>I have seen it every day, every day,<br>and still I am strong enough to love you,<br>love myself and feel good;<br>even as the earth shakes and trembles,<br>and I have not a thing to my name,<br>I feel as if I have everything, everything.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Jimmy+Santiago+Baca">Jimmy Santiago Baca</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=418222" data-title="Cloudy Day de Jimmy Santiago Baca" data-description="It is windy today. A wall of wind crashes against,
windows clunk against, iron frames
as wind swings past broken glass
and seethes, like a frightened cat
in empty spaces of the cellblock.

In the exercise yard
we sat huddled in our prison jackets,..."></div>
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