Nukem

 

Nukem jun nimaläj sipanïk

ruk’wan janila na’ojinïk,

nretaj nukoch’onik

kow yiruq’etej rajowab’äl, nïm rusipanik.

 

Toq yikemon chuwa jay,

nintzu’ toq yetoqa qa taq tz’ikina’

kan yapa’e ok chi ruchi’ ri k’ujay

ja ri loq’oläj ixïm ja ri’ ütz’ ok nikina’.

Rïn, ja ri’ ninb’än qa kiqachib’äl

yentïk qa rik’in ajowab’äl,

jalajöj kib’onil taq tz’ikin pa nukem,

jalajöj kich’ab’äl ke ri’ kik’aslem.

 

Yik’akawoman rik’in Qati’t Qamama’

rije’ kichajin re na’oj re’,

ninsuj nukikotemal chuqa’ ri b’onil je’

ninsuj nusamaj chuqa’ nuxinb’iri’il,

qati’t nikitik etz’ab’äl je’

nikikem etamab’äl pa nuk’u’x.

 

Tío picho, Tío picho, Tío picho.

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My weaving 

 

My weaving is a gift of wonder

it keeps memory alive, a marvel,

indeed, that tests my integrity

but its love embraces me firmly.

 

When I weave in the hall of my house,

I see how the little birds land

there, directly at the door of the granary

it’s the Sacred maize that they enjoy.

So, I take the opportunity to capture them,

with love I weave them on my fabric 

the colorful birds in my weaving

of their colorful songs

of colorful life.

 

I say thank you to the nawales 

of knowledge they are guardians, 

offering my joy and my colors 

offering my work and my fears, 

grandmothers sow designs 

grandmothers weave wisdom in my essence.

 

Tío picho, Tío picho, Tío picho.