Sodom by Amado Hernandez A society of phony sophistication and artifice— that’s the Hesperides of the fortunate—an oasis in the misery that surrounds it: In the king’s house, a ladder climbing to the rainbow is planted in the gutter; in the priest’s house, up and down go the pale, smooth legs; an iron hand gloved in silk, muddy feet shod in gold; a niche, bright and flowery, guards skull and skeleton; eyes and mouth electrical dominate the earth and sky; but in the Tower of Babel of one who flees from himself, there is a new Sanhedrin, the judge himself—the perfect criminal. This social set is given to drunkenness, blood is the wine of its amusement. Ah, this is Society, a fig tree whose root is rotted; silver is the skin of the tiny mullet, with progress learned from the crab, with the watchfulness of the blind; a golden watch in the bracelet does not tell the time of the vanished nights and days; these humans are drunk under their glittering facades, unaware of their soul’s gaping wounds; seduced by the fanfare proclaiming their supreme condition, they are deaf to the sobs and cries of the hungry, the victims; they indulge in flights to the clouds, but are unable to read the handwriting— the hands of lightning pointing to the last hour!