Mictlan Calleth

The battlefield is the place:

Where one toasts the divine liquor in war

Where are stained red the divine eagles

Where the tigers howl

Where all kinds of precious stones rain from ornaments

Where wave headdresses rich with fine plumes

Where princes are smashed to bit

There is nothing like death in war

Nothing like the flowery death

So precious to him who gives life

Far off I see it: My heart yearns for it!

And they called it teotihulcan

Because it was the place

Where the lords were buried

Thus they said:

'When we die,

Truly we die not,

Because we will live, we will rise,

We will continue living, we will awaken'

Thus the dead one was directed,

When he died:

'Awaken, already the sky is rosy,

Already dawn has come,

Already sing the flame-coloured guans,

The fire-coloured swallows,

Already the butterflies fly.'

Thus the old ones said

That who has died has become a god

Even jade is shattered,

Even gold is crushed,

Even quetzal plume are torn...

One does not live forever on this earth:

We endure only for an instant!

Will flowers be carried to the kingdom of death:

Is it true that we are going, we are going?

Where are we going, ay, where are we going?

Will we be dead there or will we live yet?

Does one exist again?

Perhaps we will live a second time?

Thy heart knows:

Just once do we live!.

Like a quetzal plume, a fragrant flower,

Friendship sparkles:

Like heron plumes, it weaves itself into finery.