I saw it all, I saw the decay my city has when the sad lights of the night turn on. Don't get me wrong, I love my city like Woody Allen loves Manhattan. But mediocre people filling its streets with no hope and no crazy desires of trascending really disgust me.
It's just a Friday night on Justo Sierra Street, where pulsing stereo sounds passing in cars with that nocturnal rhythm try to make me dizzy. This night as I walk between the shadowless smiling bodies of young people that sell their conscience for a cheap price, I think that there is no poetry this night, for I walk on the crying streets that are grey everyday and the soul of my city I can see it weeping with tears on its whole morphing body.
This place on such a night is hell, burning houses and burning buildings, happy red smiling faces inviting me and little wondering consious souls to the perverted celebrations they arrange on a Friday night like this.
Forgive me poetry, your words and wisdom are being forgotten this night. It's not my fault, it's not their fault.
I really don't want to be seduced by the rhythms and alcohol and cigarrettes. There is little of me that can be saved. Yes life, I can barely see my friends from the smelly corner. Their hearts are beating but I do not see life in them.
A little spot in the desert south of the border lost in the blue Mexican skies with no dry clouds to look upon, little happy children that plays "real football" with naked feet in the streets on a burning Mexicali.
They at least are happier than most of us. They will have frijoles for dinner and sleep real pleasant dreams, those we don't have anymore.
My English is being forgotten word by word y mi espa?ol casi no lo entiendo. Mi cultura se esta vendiendo y solo mi soledad y mi conocimiento se quedara conmigo. ?Si amigos mios, Mexicali esta en llamas!.
Las aguas de sabiduria se han evaporado debido a la terrible temperatura de la ignorancia. La poesia nocturna murio y esta enterrada a miles de metros bajo tierra. Solo me queda cerrar los ojos para pensar o so?ar en un gran porvenir por que lo he visto todo, pero creo que es muy poco.
I am getting close to my home, where the arms of sweet love awaits me. All dreams and all nightmares will cease but will comeback everynight to haunt the city.
But life and poetry, my friends; watch closely at my city because in a litte while the only thing you will see is ashes.
Nights and days that are drowned into the ephemeral rivers of life pass right besides me filling my and our hearts with sadness, sitting on the sidewalks of our burning Mexicali with sweat on our foreheads and joy in our smiles.
We await silently for happines.
The sun rises.
Alejandro Higuera Villegas:
Alejandro Higuera Villegas is a 24 year old, student in UABC, Mexicali, Mexico. His email is: email@example.com