Peraj  taq  sipanïk

 

Jun po’t man choj ta nich’on chawe’
rija’ nusik’ij jun pach’un  tzij chi re awanima,
jun po’t man choj ta yatruküch
rija’ nuq’etëj ak’u’x,
jun po’t man choj ta yatrupïtz’
rija’ numalaläj ruwa’ ak’u’x,
jun po’t man choj ta yatrukïch
rija’ nuk’ät nub’onij ach’akul.

Jun po’t nuk’üt chawe’
Jarupe’ setesïk ruxak’om pe ri’ rik’in ajowab’äl
richin ruk’aslemal
chuqa’ richin qak’aslemal.

Jun po’t nutzijoj chawe’
achike rub’eyal yataläx pe chi ruxe’ ri aq’al richin kamïk
achike rub’eyal ri b’onil je’ nikiyoj ruwäch ri tz’ilanem
achike rub’eyal nichajïx ruch’akul Qate’ ruwach’ulew. 

 

Ri po’t
re jun pach’un tzij ri xkib’än kan ojer qawinaq, ütz k’a naq’etëj
re jun ojer tzib’awuj, b’atz’ rub’anikil, re man xetikir ta xkichüp kan ruwäch ri emajonela’
ri po’t’ nuk’asb’a’ qab’anob’al
rija’ etamab’alil, rija’ na’ojinïk, rija’ jun k’äs cholq’ij.

Toq nitz’ïs kichi’ jun ka’i’ peraj
nikitz’ïs k’aslem
nikitz’ïs na’ojil
nikitz’ïs uchuq’ab’il je’, k’aslemal pam taq sotosïk
nikipach’uj ch’ab’äl
nikipach’uj nima’etamab’äl
nikipach’uj b’ix
nikipach’uj tzij, qatzij ri niqach’ab’äj jantape’,
taq peraj sipanïk yojkib’ochi’ij rik’in ri poch’on
rik’in ri pajon
rik’in ri k’ajin
rik’in ri kumatzin
rik’in ri b’aq’otin… 

Toq jun po’t naläx
chi ruxe’ ruq’a’ taq tra’s
chi ruwäch qatata’ q’ij,
k’o chi nqaya’ ruq’ij
k’o chi niqajo’ chi’el niqajo’ qach’ala’l. 

Xub’ij kan rute’ wati’t

“Wal: Tak’awomaj chi re apo’t ri nayäk kan chuqa’ tak’utuj  chi re ri nawokisaj chi katruchajij”.

 

Fabric of inheritance

 

A huipil doesn’t speak to you

it recites to your soul.

a huipil doesn’t cover you

it embraces your heart,

a huipil isn’t too tight

it caresses your chest,

a huipil doesn’t stain you

it tattoos your skin. 

A huipil shows you

the years of love and strength

it took for it to survive

and for us to exist.

A huipil tells you

of resurgence from the ashes of death

of colors shining to block out scorn and discrimination

of preserving the body of Mother Nature. 

 

The huipil 

is an embraceable poem that our ancestors made

it is a codex of threads that the invaders could not disappear

it is our culture’s memory

it is science, it is art, it is a living calendar.

When the stitches are joined

they embroider lives

they embroider knowledge

they embroider generations of spiraling energy,

they braid voices

they braid wisdom

they braid songs

they braid everyday poetry,

they make us fall in love with the poch’on

with the pajon

with the k’ajin

with the kumatzin

with the b’aq’otin…

Since a huipil is born

under the arms of the peach groves

under the winking Father Sun

it is an important part of the family

deserving love and respect

My great-grandmother said:

“Mija: give thanks to the huipil you care for, and ask the huipil you wear to care for you”

​

Translated by Vanessa Munguia Camarena