Inca Trail

If I could speak the language of the trees,

what would they say to me?

Would they tell me how the 9th Inca King,

Viracocha, established the whole city?

The glories days of King Yupanqui?

Or how the Incas buried their valuable things before they fled the city

to avoid the Spanish's rule?

If I could speak the language of the rocks,

what would they say to me?

Would they tell me the tricks which Incas used to build their stone houses?

How they carved windows out of stones?

or maybe just how many tourists walked pass this place day by day?

If I could speak the language of the butterflies,

What would they say to me?

Would they introduce me to their neighbors living in different bushes?

The ones with yellow wings on one side and purple on the other,

The small white ones with yellow dots on their wings,

which made them look exactly like the small white flowers grown from the stone,

and the brown ones that look exactly like those fallen leaves on the wet pavements?

Or who are those flying souls with glowing blue butts?

If only if, I lived in a world

where all everything can communicate with each other,

trees and stones would have been the best history teachers,

butterflies should be tour guides and,

may the light breeze fanning my face now be my messenger,

send my stories back home to my mom.

-- March 17th, 2019 @ Aguas Calientes, Machu Picchu