Mexico City, have I seen you before?
Did I, dreaming the ages, walk in your gardens with my ancestors? Behind the masks, the city conceals a loss, a melancholy of a fall, a vanished lake, a paradise lost.
Fair climate and bountiful jungle, did you conceal a tree of life and death in the form of a nopal? The old stories speak of gods which walk along the shores of pristine lakes.
Plumed snake god, was it with an apple or a prickly pear that you once tempted a naked woman? After they fled, did you make the garden yours? Did you raise your own people and conceal the tree so that they would never know Good nor Evil?
Unquenchable city,
Ground which drank seas of lifeblood from hearts cut from chests, from flesh rent by Spanish steel, from eyes and ears and mouths and festering sores from alien pestilence, from the slaughter of countless innocents over centuries of war and toil, blood is still sacrificed to you today, spilled on hallowed sidewalks, sanctified corners, on the altars of secluded prisons and distant fields.
The receding lake, stabbed with concrete, bled away until it lies now, gasping at the final shore, vengeance by man.
Which shall bleed to death first?
I have seen the flaming sword of the archangel in the mountain's fountain of fire which guards the entrance to this remote and high valley.
Are you the true center of the universe?
No comments:
Post a Comment