Un garabato traza
la realidad
abismal en sus
abismos,
Valparaíso, sus
cerros sin sentido,
van
ascendiendo al cielo.
El puerto es el
ruidoso mar,
sin capitán, en
naufragio permanente
sus muertos, hijos
del disparate urbano,
viajan en la
melancolía metafísica
de sus ascensores,
desafían
su propia
existencia
de sueños
incumplidos
y aún así
respiran.
Rolando Gabrielli2025
A scribble sketches reality,
abysmal in its abysses.
Valparaíso, its senseless hills,
ascend toward the sky.
The port is the noisy sea,
captainless, in constant shipwreck.
Its dead—children of urban chaos—
travel through the metaphysical melancholy
of its elevators, defying
their own existence
of unfulfilled dreams,
and still, they breathe.
abysmal in its abysses.
Valparaíso, its senseless hills,
ascend toward the sky.
The port is the noisy sea,
captainless, in constant shipwreck.
Its dead—children of urban chaos—
travel through the metaphysical melancholy
of its elevators, defying
their own existence
of unfulfilled dreams,
and still, they breathe.
