Xtabay

After Hunahpú began to reign our days from high above,

And Ixbalanqué ruled our nights right after him,

The people from the village thought they knew you, Xtabay;

They thought they knew you, and your neighbor Utz-Colel.

Xkeban was your name amongst them,

“Bad Woman,” and much more,

For passion was reserved for others;

For others, but not for you.

But I know you, Xtabay!

Oh, I know you all right.

The silk-cotton tree keeps singing your song,

I can hear it as clear as the sound of your hair

Rustling against your bare and perfumed shoulders;

Just like that bright morning where

I went down the wrong path

Until you found me.

I did not find you, Xtabay,

For I had no intention of disturbing your peace;

But your fragrance floods the air,

It gives the water redolence.

Your petals cry, Xtabay.

Flowers cascading down your open coffin,

Though the villagers never liked you.

Love is not a sin, Xtabay.

It took them a while to understand.

Modesty is not only silence and constriction,

Kindness is more than respecting yourself,

(Whatever that means);

Passion is not an illness,

Yet your heart could not contain it.

You are beautiful, Xtabay.

I know it because I saw you.

I saw you blooming next to the pathway;

Helping the exhausted traveler wandering around the forest.

That traveler was me, Xtabay,

And how grateful I am.

I was weak;

No water, and no food,

And the road extended still long before my eyes.

Your pistil put my thirst at ease,

Your leaves calmed my hunger.

How sweet you were,

How intoxicating you are.

I loved you, Xtabay.

I promised I would love you

Like no one ever did.

But that is the curse of your love, Xtabay;

You are for all,

And not for me.

I wanted to take you home.

I really did.

I still love you, Xtabay,

And I believe I always will.

There is nothing left for me.

Nothing else but thorns and

Beautiful, stunning flowers

That hurt my eyes,

And disturb the air.

I can hear them breathing through the thorns.

I tried to find your scent, but you were long gone.

Utz-Colel died and the Tzacam grew from her grave;

It repulses me, Xtabay.

I found her, by the thorns.

She is deeply jealous of you — who wouldn’t be?

She tries to love, but fails.

Love to her is a sin;

Passion with no kindness

Grows next to the thorns

And it pierces my fingers.

My blood runs out of the open wound,

Xtabay, where are you?

The silk-cotton tree cries for you, and for me, Xtabay,

“Come back!”

I do not love her, nor does she love me.

And yet, she’s walking down the pathway

Crushing my heart between her fingers.

Can you follow the trail of blood, Xtabay?

If a woman is going to take my heart

I want you to be the one who keeps it.

Such a cruel imitation, Xtabay!

Off she goes, Xtabay.

Utz-Colel took my heart,

But a faint hope occupies its place.

My heart cries crimson tears for you;

They decorate the pathway.

There you were, by the road.

I wish you were crying for me.

My blood tears fell on your face, Xtabay.

And I am sorry.

In yaakumech, Xtabay;
Sa'as si'ipil.