WHEN

I WENT AWAY

With my worn-out hands of beggar I moved away from your steps without comeback.

It was going towards the South, nude of pigeons, with the sun of corn on the shoulders.

Under my feet the belly of the ground was a long horizon of blushes.

I was pushed by the birds of the wind, the rust immensely of the autumn.

It was going only of women's names.

It was going wrapped in majestic rags.

Perhaps he was looking for the light that they denied to me in the terminal sun of the
territory.

It was leaving the climate of the sedentary man.

The defeat of my eyes was southern!

A pagan god was going in the saddle-bags and the heredity of America in the face.

Cross the dividing rió of latitudes on the thick neighing of the colts.

There far an ultramarine sky Was limiting the mirror of my astonishment.

I crossed the metropolises of the ground, the vertical equality of the equinox.

To my eyes forests of luminous swarms were the light of the cities.

When I extended my fingers potters to cool me bleed in the cinders, a centrifugal hug
of asphalt dragged me in a sticky tumult.

The gray vorágine of the mechanism was claiming a powerful effort: to leave the soul
behind the suburbs and to keep the herd of the wolves.
 To reconquer the sun, the freedoms; It was to return in sleep to the autumn To recover
my American creed It was to assemble in silence my remains, to say good-bye the
programmed man and to get lost in the wide skies.

German Walter Choque Vilca( death 1987)