Old City of Iron
By Alfredo Moreno
24 Oct 2008
Old city of iron, of cement and of people without rest if some day your history has some backwater you would stop being a city.
With your injured body for the years and cultures that have happened for the people that without seeing, you have sheltered, the autumn for you came forced.
Since, they have stopped you the time, they have taken from you the promise to be a wind the entrails have broken you and the silence has flown as a bird without breath your clear smile has left far and in your blue rollers there have dwelt colors that are old and now already they do not shine any more.
The capital of thousand you form of recollections that die between the powder of your cars, of your factories and peoples who are packed and do not feel your death.
What will you do with the violence?
Of your evenings and your nights in your streets and your parks and Colonial buildings turned into fast road axes.
