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Poem

Every morning, I flee the toxic effervescence of cities,
Where no one controls his thought, that of the birds
Where people mate in the thousands,
Without knowing what they will do, without love,
Where one is more tired in a day than in a week,
I flee with my reason, I flee with my heart,
With the determination of a South American poet,
I flee the violence of all hypocritical looks,
That of thoughts, insults behind imaginary masks,
I flee the toxic effervescence of the city,
Where Mexican jaguars are caged,
Where trees are slaves of men,
And artists slaves to appearances,
This city that flees the landscapes like ferocious animals,
She flees the poetry and calm of the centuries-old gardens,
This city flees Berlioz and Sibelius, Debussy, Dante,
To worship David Bowie or Prince,
The new gods of electricity, pop art,
This city abandons the mechanics of rivers, to poets alone,
I flee the bustle of the cities, By love, by wisdom,
Out of love for a happy princess,
Waiting for me to sing the renewal of the indomitable rivers,
And I am at last away from the deafening mirrors. Beauty.

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