That one who was the image of rain,
no longer leaves trails through the jungle,
the gold discs of his eyes
no longer blink brightly.
He isn’t to be seen
in the morning sun floating on a long
down the Sacred Monkey River.
His solar pelt is a rug.
The heart of the mountain no longer wears
black and white markings on its chest
nor does the volute, cloud of speech that names
scroll from his molten jaws.
His mute cry
Sad jaguar of the mythologies
who on devouring the sun devoured himself,
who on turning into the devouring Earth
devoured his own shadow in the night sky.
Orphan god of the Underworld
who, on following in the tracks of man,
was tricked by his masks
and fell into his snares.
Poor jaguar of the resplendent,
in his skin he carried death.
when, in the bowels of the night,
there was neither fowl
in the night sky
The jaguar that went away
is on its way
the jaguar that came back
still hasn’t come
the jaguar of we two
watches me from outside
two solar jaguars
faced off in the night
end clawed up
in the total dawn.
Aridjis, Homero. “The Jaguar.” Poemas solares: Solar Poems. Trans. George McWhirter. San Francisco: City Lights Books, 2010. p 49.