(translation|modification of México-Tenochtitlan)
by Luis S. González-Acevedo
The night reigns.
The sun sleeps in the depths
of a blue mirror.
His eyes don’t see,
face-to-face, his own reflection.
A reflection that doesn’t lie
and dictates his essence, day after day.
In the countryside’s darkness,
making way through the tropical flora,
desperate and anguished,
a green-eyed man projects himself,
owner of a transparent soul.
His hardened body falls
near a small pond.
His chest plummets into mud
and his face submerges into tropical waters.
Where is your strength?
~ ~ ~
Drops of dew kiss your emerald eyes.
They bring dreams and landscapes;
and even if you want to forget them,
your stained soul cannot.
Moctezuma, my father…
Who will tell your glory?
You were god and king
of the great Aztec Empire.
No one looked at your face.
How your countenance changed!
When your powerless informants
revealed the dreaded news
of gods marching
toward your throne:
Sitting on the Aztec throne,
you lowered your head without words,
without weeping, without tears
and hurled your mortal cry.
The beginning of agonies was that silent cry.
Not only did you lose the kingdom,
but your dignity as well.
You climbed to the top of your prison,
expecting to dominate an indomitable people.
Expecting a king, they saw a prisoner.
Once, you were their god;
but in the end, a poor and chained devil.
You broke the heart of a people.
Rejected by his people, Moctezuma died:
god, king and prisoner.
Cuauhtémoc, redeemer of the Aztec kingdom,
in your delirious struggle under the fire of arms
and shower of arrows,
seeing your people dead and injured,
you surrendered because your
México-Tenochtitlan no longer existed.
“I’ve done everything in my power
to defend my kingdom;
and my fortune has not been favorable.
Take my life; and with this,
you’ll bring the Mexican kingdom to an end.”
Don’t say to Cuauhtémoc:
“Don’t cry like a child
what you couldn’t defend like a man.”
He paid the price of freedom with his life.
~ ~ ~
The green-eyed man awakens,
lying on the ground.
The sun glares at his mortal face
from the blue mirror as he illuminates the world.
Rising to his feet,
he sees his blended soul
stained with red mud reflecting in the water;
and he understands the dream…
Daughters & Sons of Cuauhtémoc
Heirs of paradise: México-Tenochtitlan
–You can find the poem in Caribbean Poet, by Luis S. González-Acevedo or the original version in Spanish in Poemas Caribeños, por Luis S. González-Acevedo–