Tribute To Poet César Vallejo Poem by Alexandro Johns

César, the Vallejo of the impure ones
you are not dead so far,
in nights without shape
by roads to sticks
as leaf of whirlwind
or suffocated root in alien ground.

Always in the fall
the panpipes illuminate
you don't escape by windows or absolutes
with your rain nails of youth.

You are alone in Andean air
on a tree red Yagual that it blooms
under the broken sky
of a stony place
where your words copulate happy.

You are the loser that will continue succeeding,
you don't need friends
rehearsing their chimeras
wet in blood of your voice.

Mountain range
it is coming toward the Ceasar of the talents,
cross the ocean in thursday
lift it the establishment and let it fall
in homage to his heart.