Up there, she stands,
beatifull, silent, proud,
jungled mountains dance around her,
as constelations pass by.
Stone, grey, green curves,
shape the slopes, still steep.
Awesome, within the silence,
it is The Wind who sings.
In childish ways,
the Sun, the Fog, play,
caressing the citadel,
magic the lights, cast over her.
In just one breath
she owned my voice.
Quiet, I sing of peace,
on these terraces of God.
La Finita
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful visuals, beautiful poetry some day I want to see Machu Pichu, I hear it is a mystical place. And you are right it is so high it has to be closer to God.