The dry feet stumble
across the scorched earth
and with every step dust rises
turning harder every breath.
Offerings to the clouds and sky
circle the mud huts of the town;
in vain, for the gods refuse to cry
and allow their tears to come down.
And the heat gets stronger
with no relief to be found
not in the shade nor in the dark
and on the old Death is soon bound.
The eldest man finally collapses
and enters fiery Hell on Charon’s boat,
but soon the weather discomforts him
and heads upwards to get his coat.
(A small tribute to Juan Rulfo)