These plumes that the Taita has in his crown
made me think about the death of a macaw;
the Taita who was walking far from me
came near and said:
I did not kill it
I picked it up in the Salado de los Loros
it was my offering
to acquire the power to divine thought;
then he went away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem