El Pimiento

In the heart of the plains
lives a pepper.
Sun and wind for its life,
sun and wind.

Crowned by the stone
lives the pepper.
Moon and wind keep watch,
moon and wind.

When its branches bloom
it's a wildfire,
so much red it spills,
pure red.
Pure red.

No one sees it working
beneath the ground
when it searches night and day
for its food.

Red pepper from the north,
from Atacama,
I feel the song of your branches
in the desert.

You must keep blooming
like a wildfire
because the north is all yours,
all of it.
All of it.