Walking dejectedly at the sight of days
After days rolling very downhill
The world in its innumerable filth
Without even a god giving us the remedy
To ward off the disaster of winter
That hangs like frost on eyelashes

The gods are so far away, implacable
Nothing matters to them anymore and we don't think
Not even common sense helps us today
Rational sanity escapes us
Back to where we don't know
How not to go since it seems too late

Thus walks the poet of the Naranjo
From a pestilent river the most beautiful
That flows firmly from infant light
Thus sees who looks into the mirrors
And fears out of terror to be a narcissist
Edenic without fear of catastrophe.