Songs of Cacamatzin
Our friends,
listen to him:
that no one should live with the presumption of royalty.
The fury, the fight,
forget,
fade
on our one good hour upon the earth.
I, also, alone,
not long ago heard,
while playing ball,
whispered, murmured:
“Is it possible to act humanely?”
“Is it possible, discreetly?”
“I alone, know myself.”
They all said this,
but none speak truth upon the earth.
The mist spreads,
resound the conch-shell trumpets,
above me, above the whole earth.
Flowers rain down, they braid themselves, they twirl,
come to cheer us all.
Truthfully, our father labors
perhaps as in his house,
perhaps, as quetzal feathers in times of verdancy,
tinged with flowers,
here upon the earth, the Giver of Life.
Where the treasured drums resound,
where the laughter of flutes can be heard,
heaven’s holder, dear god,
necklaces of red feathers
trembling on the earth.
Mists surround the songs of the shield,
darts rain down upon the earth
and darken every petal,
thunder in the sky.
With golden shields,
in the distance begins the dance.
I alone say this,
I, Cacamatzin,
alone remembering,
lord Nezahualpilli.
Can you see them now,
conversing,
he and Nezahualcoyotl,
surrounded by kettledrums?
I, alone, remember them now.
Who, truly, will not end up there?
Be he jade, be he gold,
will he not there travel?
Am I turquoise shield,
once more, like mosaic, shall I be encrusted?
Shall I walk out again upon the earth?
In fine cloth shrouded?
Still, upon the earth, surrounded by kettledrums,
I remember them.