(no subject)

[silverflurry.livejournal.com]

Can it be that this earth is our only abode?
I know nothing but suffering, for only in anguish
do we live.
Will my flesh be sown anew
In my father and my mother?
Will I yet take shape as an ear of corn?
Will throb once again in fruit?
I weep: no one is here; they have left the orphans.
Is it true we still live
In that region where all are united?
Do our hearts, perhaps, believe it so?

Ms. "Cantares mexicanos," fol. 13v.
Nezahualcoyotl
Trece Poetas del Mundo Azteca
Miguel Leon-Portilla