The king has passed on

After the bard recited stories,

A fabric interleaving

Transfigurations of the past

With alien-teotl 

Chastatic impositions

Burdens that blend

Seared into their imagination. 

At their watering holes

Of pulque and chicha 

They figure balance.

Procession of penitents 

In heavy iron chains

Crown of thorns

And cholla cactus on their arms,

Others crawl the streets 

Of colorful carpets —

Of sawdust, pine needles and flowers

Backs tied with chichicaste.

Men brought to their knees

Worn down by the cross

On their shoulders

Draped in cloth 

Of colorful glyphs and tocapu patterns

For the Semana Santa, the holy week.

Defining their sacred map 

In geometric shapes on fabric

Sewn together as songlines

Carrying the memories 

Of their ancestors. 

And for the king 

The bard brought his travels, 

Singing these dreamstories —

Sacred narratives woven

From land and life, 

Where the spirit breath of the serpent

Traces the spiritual maps.

Aawara hoon, gaata hoon.