Mexicans & Death

Death to the Mexican is not the end but a new beginning

A person does not die unless she’s forgotten by those she left behind.

Death to a Mexican brings life to culture and tradition.

Every year, this November night the wind’s whistle is a knife in my ears

It howls loudly like La Llorona, looking for her kids

That is because the dead have come to the feast,

Oh, but there is nothing to fear, it not the Grim Reaper who’s paying a visit.

It is the loved ones that left before us, who descend from heaven

Like lost souls, they walk light as a feather.

They follow the footsteps left on brown soil,

That shows them the way to their past journey.

The ones still on Earth also lend them a hand,

Busy like ants, they prepare for this night.

They set up an ofrenda with a lot of heart

A bed of orange flowers is placed on the table

They light up bright candles to guide them back home.

The women cook the dead their favorite dish

And don’t forget pan de muerto, for those with a sweet tooth

My wish is that the young blood continues these traditions

As for when I leave this world, I’d like to be reassured

That when my soul returns looking for refuge, it will find its ofrenda

Because everything transcends and even in death the soul needs a home.