From Pablo Neruda's Isla Negra - translated by Alistair Reid

Rangoon, 1927

I came late to Rangoon.

Everything was already there --

a city

of blood,

dreams and gold,

a river that flowed

from the savage jungle

into the stifling city

and its leprous streets,

and a white hotel for whites,

and a golden pagoda for the golden people.

That's what 

went on

and didn't go on.

Rangoon, steps stained

by the spitters

of betel juice.