Alfredo Yépez Miranda

MACHUPICCHU's GREATNESS

You are the triumph of the Andean man that stirred you to rebellion on abysses. Granite became soft in the hands tanned of the Quechuan artists. The men imitated the infinity that touches your skies, at those palaces that are your glory. You are land of wonders, where the man and skies, stones and the cosmos shake hands, where queen the solemn silence to acquire the dimension of the infinite, where years do not have name, where everything is majesty of distances, I am amazing painted in colors, arrogance of summits; You are the health for the souls, the ones that look for you when going up to your temples, come after themselves, to the roadside inn, where they will understand their destination, in order to walk away with a piece of your sky in the look that fulfilled their working day and a throb of your river in the heart, like memory of the walker.

The centuries they touch themselves when contemplating your fame. Your name resounds for all our towns, he extends himself through the Andes for the fields of America and the gilthead gets to the five continents, like a magic word,, shining, that he attracts and fascinates and that they all repeat with anxiety: Machupicchu, I will go up to Machupicchu, I will bend over at your temples, they tell the hopeful men. The pilgrims of the imperial epoch, the travellers of the contemporary world, the men of the yesterday and the peoples of today, they look for you with the same enthusiasm, in order to become confused with you, in order to feel part of tí, in order to understand the mysterious puff of wind of the centuries that sing your history in the sacred stones of your walls that way. Only that way listens to him the written language the rocks of your temples, only that way intervening that spiritual union, your eternal message, to admire hears itself how your skies, those wonderful skies, fullnesses of depth and of color, they blend in with your summits and, with your walls, where stones were placed by titans that they had poetry in the look and dove's delicacy in the hands. The imperial pilgrims got to hear the voice of the destination, you were an oracle that announced the mysterious key of the future. Now also the visitors of everybody, the fact that they come to admire you, in order to love you and loving each other to understand to you and being heard, they think that you are rest for your fatigues, and that the eternal young of your sun have to penetrate into her heart. Proud when going back to your place they say with voice of triumph that it sounds like a bugle: I was in Machupicchu.

Is that you Machupicchu? They address you as city I give  refuge of Vilcabamba's Incas, they appoint the Ayar Legendarios's Pacarina to you, they surname your City of hope, they brand you: Asleep city, some: Silver city, other ones: Octave Amazes of the world.

I proclaim you that you are Templo where the life like eternity was adored. Everything is hymn here to what's Eternal. Life palpitates like a primrose in your skies, at your summits, in your platforms, in your walls, at your mysterious streets, at your resounding river, in your only light. The Inca master builders trembled with the puff of wind of eternity of your mountains and singing they constructed your walls.

The fact is that you are Machupicchu only, you are stair toward the infinite, where the cosmic puff of wind that brightens up everything feels, getting to you resuscitate the past, your walls come alive, your stones talk. The chorus of the priestesses at the Temple of the three Windows, raising toward the deep sky his prayers like hopes hears itself. He sees his silent amautas, contemplating the Intihuatana, meditating upon the essence of the things. Closer to this point, is the Inca searching to hear in the rumor of the wind that the direction of new victories shows you, the voice of the destination. The rumor of the sacred sources next to the Inca's large fortified tower, it serves as musical bottom to the ceremony from the cult to the summits, that the priests on the holy stones realize. Today as yesterday, the ones that go up to you, look for spiritual health for his souls, you are for that reason, monument to life, temple where what's Eternal, mountain are adored where one understands sublime. City where the soul never ages.

Machupicchu, you are the image of the past, you are our heart, you are our emblem. When we went up to you, we want to listen to your voice, Incas and meditating felt, amautas and understanding your mystery felt, bring a piece of your land, like talisman for our working days. We bring that one to vibrate of the cosmic world of your deep skies. The petrified melancholy of the twilight in chant of Inca origin, or I truncate your flights of stairs that seem a longing from coming to infinity. Machupicchu, emblem of the Peru, you are glory of everybody. The soul of the Ancient Egypt is in her immortal pyramids. The life of the legendary Greece is felt in the wonderful forms of Milo's Venus, portent of light and harmony. Inca civilization's longing to materialize in stone your desire of eternity and life, estáen your walls made of dream and wonder.