stolen treasures.

ancient temple, burning city,
heart of tenochtitlan
mutilated and raped into mexico city.

quatemoc says, “we face rainy weather,”
as screams fill the air while his feet burn, and ashes
float through empty heaven.

men in guns and suits of armor riding beasts that travel fast.
cortez, the leader steals the riches for his mistress.

the young warrior wonders,
“father, where do we go now?”
father responds, “follow the sun west,”

“people of the sun have hope until the sun is gone.”
but now, nighttime comes, sun has disappeared,

moans and screams resonate.
sound of spanish leather whipping against the once strong warrior.

the clouds no longer allow view of the sun.

so awake.

aztec blood robbed of its dignity and pride. european blood lost all power.

mestizo blood’s been dying. and so,
now swim in pool of silence with no escape but drowning

that when i look in the mirror, see
an ancient figure, which makes me, feel so sad with its
bleeding wounds and lost ways.

and in the end this empty dance

for rain turns into pain, genocide, mass suicide, more priests-

assimilated hopes and dreams.

1997.