The Broken Spears

from Unos Anales Historicas de la Nation Mexicana, by an Anonymous Aztec Poet

Broken Spears lie in the roads,
we have torn our hair in our grief.
The houses are roofless now, and their walls
are red with blood.

Worms are swarming in the streets and plazas,
and the walls are spattered with gore,
The water has turned red, as if it were dyed,
and when we drink it,
it has the taste of brine.

We have pounded our hands in despair
against the adobe walls
for our inheritance, our city, is lost and dead.
The shields of our warriors were its defence,
and they could not save it.

We have chewed dry twigs and salt grasses,
we have filled our mouths with dust and bits of adobe,
we have eaten lizards, and rats, and worms...