Oct 2
Soy de la tierra de los volcanes.
Soy descendiente de los Mayas.
La sangre de mi nación cubre las tierras de Yucatán, Guatemala, El Salvador, hasta Honduras.
The Mestizo cry out for their loss.
They don’t know who they are.
Our fore fathers ruled those lands preaching of a mighty feather serpent who created our lands.
Stories passed down through the centuries all for it to be lost.
The crown across the sea in the name of Christ set to burn our lands to make them holy.
The rains cried for them when their children were taken to campos.
They shall never see their mothers for now they have been ‘reborn’.
They shall never know their language.
Hail Maria
Heart cold as ice they burned their sacred texts
Children born with tainted blood. Pain and suffering runs through their veins.
Those who carry their blood shall never know their past.
They shall never be pure for they have harmed their own.
Yo soy Salvadoreña.
I am a nomad who roams the land
I only know now
Our tree roots only go so far
I only wish to see beyond
My K’ux calls me.
I miss my home
The grounds where my ancestors have lived
Where my parents were born
The lands where I wasn’t born in
I feel like I betrayed my ancestors
Born in a foreign land with a language shoved down my throat.
I threw up my ancestors blood as I was injected with the American dream
In God we trust
The deaths of the
Lenca, Pipil, Cacaopera, Mangue, Xinca, Mixe, Maya Poqomam, K’iche, Maya Chorti.
We are on the sidelines
Our history barely known
My mother’s pain is now mine
The pain of war is what she knows
Oscar Romero, Marianella García Villas, the town of El Mozote, Chalatenango, and those who fled, may they be delivered the peace that they deserve.
They did not surrender
They fought till the end
Liberation from war
I never forgot
Forever shall they live
Their blood now with the ground
Together with Itzamná
I am my siblings guardian
I cry for those who seek home
The children in cages away from their mothers
My brothers and sisters suffer alone
I am K’ uk’ulkan
I see the suffering
I see what my people have been through
I call upon U K’ux Kaj, heart of sky, thunderbolt huracan youngest thunderbolt, sudden thunderbolt and Uk’ux cho, Uk’ux palo Kukulkan, Quetzal serpent, Heart of lake and sea.
I am first generation
I carry the ambitions and dreams of those who came before me
Strong and willed
To forget my language is genocide against my ancestors. I asked my mother how to say ‘wound’ in Spanish because I forgot and all she could do was laugh.
‘Herida’... oh right. The pain that my heart felt when my mother first told me I was “muda”
Forgive me.
Soy descendiente de los Mayas.
La sangre de mi nación cubre las tierras de Yucatán, Guatemala, El Salvador, hasta Honduras.
The Mestizo cry out for their loss.
They don’t know who they are.
Our fore fathers ruled those lands preaching of a mighty feather serpent who created our lands.
Stories passed down through the centuries all for it to be lost.
The crown across the sea in the name of Christ set to burn our lands to make them holy.
The rains cried for them when their children were taken to campos.
They shall never see their mothers for now they have been ‘reborn’.
They shall never know their language.
Hail Maria
Heart cold as ice they burned their sacred texts
Children born with tainted blood. Pain and suffering runs through their veins.
Those who carry their blood shall never know their past.
They shall never be pure for they have harmed their own.
Yo soy Salvadoreña.
I am a nomad who roams the land
I only know now
Our tree roots only go so far
I only wish to see beyond
My K’ux calls me.
I miss my home
The grounds where my ancestors have lived
Where my parents were born
The lands where I wasn’t born in
I feel like I betrayed my ancestors
Born in a foreign land with a language shoved down my throat.
I threw up my ancestors blood as I was injected with the American dream
In God we trust
The deaths of the
Lenca, Pipil, Cacaopera, Mangue, Xinca, Mixe, Maya Poqomam, K’iche, Maya Chorti.
We are on the sidelines
Our history barely known
My mother’s pain is now mine
The pain of war is what she knows
Oscar Romero, Marianella García Villas, the town of El Mozote, Chalatenango, and those who fled, may they be delivered the peace that they deserve.
They did not surrender
They fought till the end
Liberation from war
I never forgot
Forever shall they live
Their blood now with the ground
Together with Itzamná
I am my siblings guardian
I cry for those who seek home
The children in cages away from their mothers
My brothers and sisters suffer alone
I am K’ uk’ulkan
I see the suffering
I see what my people have been through
I call upon U K’ux Kaj, heart of sky, thunderbolt huracan youngest thunderbolt, sudden thunderbolt and Uk’ux cho, Uk’ux palo Kukulkan, Quetzal serpent, Heart of lake and sea.
I am first generation
I carry the ambitions and dreams of those who came before me
Strong and willed
To forget my language is genocide against my ancestors. I asked my mother how to say ‘wound’ in Spanish because I forgot and all she could do was laugh.
‘Herida’... oh right. The pain that my heart felt when my mother first told me I was “muda”
Forgive me.
