Humberto Akʼabal, also Akʼabʼal or Akabal (October 31, 1952 – 28 January 28, 2019), was a Kʼicheʼ Maya poet from Guatemala. Akʼabʼal wrote in his native language of Kʼicheʼ, and then translated his poetry into Spanish. With the translations of his works into numerous languages and international recognition, Akʼabʼal is considered to be “the most renowned Maya K’icheʼ poet” in the world and one of the best known Guatemalan writers in Europe and Latin America.

 

AT TIMES
Humberto Ak’abal

At times sleep deserts me
and lest I pass the night
turning over in bed
I go out to chat with the moon.

She tells me about the flower
that could turn into a butterfly
and the butterfly
that could turn into fire.

And I wake up
as if all of this
had been a dream.

=====

AWAKENING
Humberto Ak’abal

One day
the Creator saw me alone,
so alone.

He made me sleep,
he made me dream
out in the fields of maize,

and he wrenched a rib out of me…

Upon waking,
in front of me
—gorgeous, naked, made of clay and corn,
scented like a mountain—

my poetry.

====
 
BROKEN WING
Humberto Ak’abal
 
I’ve never heard a song
so painfully beautiful.
 
The bird fell,
its wing broken.
 
It looked at me
and left.
 
It looked
and looked
and looked at me…
 
I started crying.
 
It left, it left, it left…
 
That look kept asking
if I would bring him back his life.
 
====
 
THE DANCE
Humberto Ak’abal
 
All of us dance

on a cent’s edge.

The poor—because they are poor—
lose their step,
and fall

and everyone else
falls on top.

====
 

A PERSON
Humberto Ak’abal

A sad person
is not a person.

It’s just a shard
of something

walking along
with half a life.

===
 

FLOWERS
Humberto Ak’abal

Roots
send flowers to tell us
what earth is like
on the inside.

And flowers
fade, they die,
because out here
life is shit.

====

FREEDOM
Humberto Ak’abal
 
Blackbirds, buzzards, and doves

perch on cathedrals and palaces
the same as rocks,
trees, and fence posts,

and they shit on them
with the full freedom of those who know
that god and justice
live in the soul.

====

JAGUAR

Humberto Ak’abal

Sometimes I’m a jaguar
running through ravines,
leaping boulders,
climbing mountains.

I look beyond the sky,
beyond the water,
beyond the earth.

I chat with the sun,
play with the moon,
and pluck stars
and stick them to my body.

My tail stirs as I
stretch out on the grass,
tongue panting.

=====
 

THAT DAY
Humberto Ak’abal

That day
she arrived with such force
that she destroyed
with one big blow

my loneliness.

===

MEMORIES
Humberto Ak’abal

Now and then
I walk backwards.
It is my way of remembering.

If I only walked forward,
I could tell you
about forgetting.

===

THE MOON AND THE FEATHER

Humberto Ak’abal

The moon
gave me a feather.

In my hand
it felt like singing.

The moon laughed
and told me
to learn to sing.

====
 

THE POOL
Humberto Ak’abal

There were many stars
in the pool;
I asked my father
to take them out.

He transferred the water
drop by drop
and put them in my hands.

At dawn
I wanted to see if
he had really taken them out.

And it was true,
the only thing left in the pool
was the sky.

=====
 

PRAYER
Humberto Ak’abal

In church
the only prayer you hear
comes from the trees
they turned into pews.

===

TO MY GRANDFATHER
Humberto Ak’abal

My grandfather’s steps
are done;
he has walked so much.

Now the earth moves
little by little
beneath his feet
so that he will be able
to approach the edge of the sun.