a uímoobe kátul chan xch’upalaloob tu báaxal loxoob tan a p’o.
U cheel a páakate u sinmubaj ti’ u yoom.
Maax ku yilikech jel u ya’lik ma’tech a muk’yaj.
Ma’ u yójel ua tu chun u yok u kúchil a p’o ka mulik u xoxot’al a kuxtal.
Ta chen xúxub tan a p’o,
a xúxube junt’in bek’ech sun u tial a t’inik a ka’nanil u dzokol.
u kói pal tu kókolik a t’in nook’.
Tu jo’l lak’in che’oob
k’ine juntul chan cheech paal lek u síijil tu k’ik’itik u k’an k’ink’inal ok’o.
your breasts are two little girls jostling each other in play when you wash.
The rainbow of your glance is suspended in the lather.
To look at you one wouldn’t guess you suffer,
wouldn’t know that at the foot of your washtub you hoard part of your story.
You give a whistle,
your whistle is a thread where you will hang your tiredness.
The wind
is a mischievous lad who tugs and tugs at your laundry.
On the trees of the east
the sun is a newborn baby scattering his warm yellow tears.