The old city
Under its gray sky
It has lost its former splendor.
Monstrous megalopolis
Scattered among the sands
And the Rimac River.
Boiling cauldron
Where they converge
All the bloods.
From your port
Tons of ******* are released
Towards a decadent Europe
And their venal politicians
They are recycled with every new choice.
And yet
Poetry, stubborn, continues to grow
Like a voluptuous maguey flower
In the middle of the desert.