Ma chu Picchu...Mar...is...a...mar...

Lonely as a cloud

What shall we sing, my friends?
In what shall we rejoice?
There alone our song lives,
Where our ancestors were born.
On Earth, where they lived...
I suffer here on Earth...
He who gives life conceals

Men in a casket and in an ark....
But shall I see them? Shall my eyes see
The faces of my father and my mother?
Can they offer me their song,
Their words, which I search for?
Here is no one,
They have left us as orphans, here on Earth.


Canto Triste
(de Nezahualcoyotl)
Oye un canto en mi corazón:

me pongo a llorar,

me lleno de dolor:

nos vamos entre flores,

hemos de dejar esta Tierra:

¡estamos prestados unos a otros:

iremos a la casa del Sol!



¡Póngame yo un collar

de variadas flores:

en mis manos estén,

florezcan en mí guirnaldas.

Hemos de dejar esta Tierra:

estamos prestados unos a otros:

iremos a la casa del Sol!



Cuicatli Quicaqui
(de Nezahualcoyotl)
Cuicatli quicaqui

in noyol nichoca:

ye nicnotlamati

tiya xochitica

tic cauhtehuazque

tlalticpac ye nican

titotlanehuia

o tiyazque ichan.



Ma nicnocozcati

nepapan xochitl

ma nomac on mani

ma nocpacxochihui.

Tic cauhtehuazque

tlalticpac ye nican

zan titotlanehuia

o tiyazque ichan.

To Marisa...Mister Alberto, Lady Josefina, Tânia and Marcos...thanks.

TAJ MAHAL POEM OF LOVE...TO FANNY, COUNTESS OF BRUGES...let the splendor of the diamond, pearl and ruby vanish like the magic shimmer of the rainbow.

Taj Mahal

The Taj, mayhap, to you may seem, a mark of love supreme
You may hold this beauteous vale in great esteem;
Yet, my love, meet me hence at some other place!
How odd for the poor folk to frequent royal resorts;
‘Tis strange that the amorous souls should tread the regal paths
Trodden once by mighty kings and their proud consorts.
Behind the facade of love my dear, you had better seen,
The marks of imperial might that herein lie screen’d
You who take delight in tombs of kings deceased,
Should have seen the hutments dark where you and I did wean.
Countless men in this world must have loved and gone,
Who would say their loves weren’t truthful or strong?
But in the name of their loves, no memorial is raised
For they too, like you and me, belonged to the common throng.

These structures and sepulchres, these ramparts and forts,
These relics of the mighty dead are, in fact, no more
Than the cancerous tumours on the face of earth,
Fattened on our ancestor’s very blood and bones.
They too must have loved, my love, whose hands had made,
This marble monument, nicely chiselled and shaped
But their dear ones lived and died, unhonoured, unknown,
None burnt even a taper on their lowly graves.

This bank of Jamuna, this edifice, these groves and lawns,
These carved walls and doors, arches and alcoves,
An emperor on the strength of wealth, Has played with us a cruel joke.
Meet me hence, my love, at some other place.