Conquistador

 Conquistador

The Humbolt current cold, powerful

Pushed perpetually south

Along the Purvian coast

Creating morning fog, light rain

As the joggers hug the curvatures

Of the walkways in wealthy Miraflores

Winding their routes where the coastal 

Waves buoy the surfers then crash the 

Stony shores beneath the cliffs.

The shores now herald the Americans and

Europeans who travel continents

To witness the colonial story.

Pizarro landed in the same surf with his

European greed, disease with his weapons,

a lust and quest for gold, an avarice

Superceded culture, dignity and humanity.

Instinct, then dominance led him to the Inca 

Emperor

Who held for ranson,

With missionary zeal, for a room full of gold,

Only to be executed on colonial promise.

The Spanish nobles pay the church to fill

The catacombs, the dead lay oblivious to

Succession upon succession of

Inca colonalism,

Of conquered neighbouring lesser tribes,

Followed by

the vanquished “lesser Incas.”

There will always be those less.

There will always be the conquistador.

We can not save ourselves from ourselves.