Poetry

Poem: Shangrila

By: Daniel de Culla

benjamin-wong-485320-unsplash

Where are you going, James Hilton?
Where are you going, sad about you?
-I’m looking for my Lost Horizons
On the great bluish mountain of the Karakal
In Baskul, Afghanistan.
-If Tomás Moro is already dead
In his Utopia, I saw him
Hidden in a Shamballa
Beyond the snowy mountains
From the Himalayas range.
His body was guarded by the British consul
Hufg Conway, his assistant Charles Mallinson
Christian missionary Roberta Brinklow
And the American merchant
Henry D. Barnard.
There was also King Kong
Who died for our sins
Guardian of Shangrila
That to the bridal couples that are coming
He don’t let in, only between week
And to the lusty gentleman, who faces him
Because he wants to get inside
He kick up a great fuss:
-You, not. The beautiful lady, first¡
He answering:
-But if you are my father
And I am Your son, Viejo¡
As Charles Darwin says.

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