Jauca district Serafn Alarcn Jauca district of Santa Isabel, burning sun in the forehead and a steam of those autumnal ones wrapping the being And that to say? A summer that went away and a winter that does not even arrive. Keep up on the field with thought-provoking pieces from New York Life . I raise the voice and to the air I send: Good afternoon! leaves a Don a Don annoying Sir confusing to me with some despicable salesman. I add and I say: – God blesses to him But it does not respond, is not surprised by good the new one. Then it answers to me: – That it wants? Bitter and high tone, face I inconvenience, rough accent. Total absence of elementary humanity.
Absentee of brotherhood, of the minimum cordiality their full eyes of blood and violence watch to me. Scene that has become but that habitual. Badly interpreted, badly understood, rejected, sometimes persecuted objects of mofa and we became the safe target of those Hablar de Christ is forbidden subject. And without affections, barren of brotherhood they anaesthetise the soul to us and little that we have left of fulgor wishes to go away to fly. And little by little becoming beings nocturnes they try to evade everything light signal and really marking to its immediate space and its borders. Humanity that has cut to all bow of love and friendship Christ lived the same reality, lived but the bitter experience still more to have to undergo the rejection of which and nothing were made call the town of the Gentleman, that the Sun gives in the forehead forgetting me. He asks to me that he forgets of that perhaps if they are arranged to listen. To drop them to each by its own weight speaking of the love and the war. To walk without having to remember the nonsense of the few, only some.