Legend of the Volcanoes

    According to the legend, at the beginning of history, when the Aztecs arrived in the Valley of Anahuac, before the mountains had reached their permanent form, a beautiful princess named Mixtli was born, in the city of Tenochtitlan. She was the daughter of Tizoc, the Tlatoani Emperor of the Mexicas. Mixtli was sought after by numerous noblemen, among them Axooxco, a cruel and bloodthirsty man, who demanded the hand of Mixtli in marriage. However, Mixtli's heart belonged instead to a humble peasant named Popoca. Popoca went into battle, to conquer the title of Caballero Aguila. If he claimed this title of nobility, Popoca would be able to fight Axooxco for the hand of Mixtli.
    Mixtli knew the danger Popoca was in, and then, wrongly, heard that he was killed. But in fact, Popoca was returning victorious. Not realizing this, Mixtli killed herself, rather than live without Popoca. When Popoca returned to find Mixtli dead, he picked her up and carried her body into the mountains. Hoping that the cold snow would wake her from sleep, reuniting them alive, Popoca stayed at her feet, bent over, watching for her to come awake.
    They have remained there ever since, and the body of Mixtli has become the volcano Ixtaccihuatl (the Sleeping Woman), the ever-watchful Popoca has become the volcano Popocatépetl (the Smoking Mountain), and Axooxco has become the Cerro Ajusco (the highpoint of the Distrito Federal). Ever since, these volcanoes have towered above the city of Mexico. The romantic legend of this couple has been passed on, ever since the Pre-Columbian era, and so now the people of Mexico know the origin of these magnificent volcanoes.

IZTACCIHUATL

Desnuda, entre la nieve de la cumbre,
que salpica tu cuerpo de alabastros,
provocas la lujuria de los astros
que iluminan tu eterna reciedumbre.

Entre Idilio de nubes y montañas,
entre los riscos de la cumbre enhiesta
ocultan tu hermosura deshonesta
el loco palpitar de tus entrañas.

Y duermes toda blanca, toda inerte,
desafiando los siglos y la altura
y encajas en el cielo tu figura
como un símbolo eterno:..¡ el de la muerte !

POPOCATEPETL

Si, guerrero inmortal, ahí la tienes,
blanca e inmóvil como el propio hielo
en vano es la tortura de tus sienes
pidiendo a dios que la despierte el cielo.

Inútil tu llamar, no está dormida
pues ni al conjuro de tu amor despierta.
Sigue agachado como besta herida
y bebe la nostalgia de tu muerta.

No escucharon los ámbitos tu ruego
ni dios quiso escuchar tu ronco grito.
Seguirás con tus lágrimas de fuego
regando de dolor el infinito.