Burning plains

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)