Brother Pablo by Pablo Neruda — Read

But today peasants come to see me: "Brother, there's no water, brother Pablo, there's no water, it hasn't rained.

And the river's scant current circulates seven days, runs dry seven days.

Our cattle died in the cordillera.

And the drought begins to kill children.

Up above, many have nothing to eat.

Brother Pablo, speak to the Minister."

(Yes, brother Pablo will speak to the Minister, but they don't know how those armchairs of ignominious leather receive me, and then the ministerial wood, rubbed and polished by servile saliva.)

The Minister will lie, he'll wash his hands, and the livestock of the poor commoner, with his burro and his dog, will fall, from hunger to hunger, amid threadbare rocks.