Flor Antigua
Xican
Ancient Flower
Listen to the drum
The old earth shakes
Dust rises, dried blood
Those who don’t sleep are back
I walk barefoot, dirt on my tongue
Tattooed on my shoulder, the name that thunders
Bones around my neck, prayers that burn
My shadow longer than the full moon
In iuhqui nimitztlaçotla, cempoal thorns
Earth painted, red in the ruins
Cuix matis? The night screams at me
Are you coming with fear or with gods?
My grandfather buried knives on the hill
Swore that thunder would be our dog
Now the skies bark when I walk slow
Each step marks judgment in the wind
Cry of the ancients
The sky breaks when I call
Tlatecutli ti mitzitta
The earth opens its side
Cry of the ancients
Your name burns in my hands
Cualli yohualli, warrior
Return to the sacred fire
My eyes see a thousand calendars
Painted faces, burning suns
Broken codices, pages in flames
But the story continues in my throat
Nimitznotza, man, tlaocol in tlalli
I whisper to the ground before raising the axe
Each scar is a map that burns
Each heartbeat a drum that never fails
Ticpiah tlatehui, my race doesn’t fall
Even if their stones turn to crystals
From the belly of the valley to the biting sea
Our word, an arrow that never gets lost
Cry of the ancients
The sky breaks when I call
Tlatecutli ti mitzitta
The earth opens its side
Cry of the ancients
Your name burns in my hands
Cualli yohualli, warrior
Return to the sacred fire
