
DIA DE LOS MUERTOS
(Festival of the Day of the Dead)
Each year on 1st and 2nd November, on the
The flames of hand-held torches cast their fingers of fire into the night,
‘Tis the time to honour the departed, and, in the evening’s fading light,
The procession makes it’s way to the place of the graves,
Mirrored in the lake’s gentle evening waves.
Dressed in finery, laden with gifts, they continue their reverential parade,
To the place of the dead, where sleep the old ones, and here will be pilgrimage made.
Gifts of food and flowers are laid upon the last resting places
Of the dearly departed, family, friends, pictures laid of remembered faces.
All through the night the sound of prayer is heard upon the breeze,
The sound of hymns fills the air, from the penitent, upon their knees.
The words of the Mass drift through the air, touching heart and mind,
The vigil continues ‘til dawn’s early light, and a new day is designed.
Music accompanies the faithful as they return to the village by day,
Then, as evening approaches the torches are lit, and they slowly make their way
To the little churchyard, and there once again the Dia de Los Muertos revives,
Voices in praise and in prayer fill the air, and so the tradition survives.
The tourists arrive each year in their droves to witness this pageant of reverence
Do they I wonder feel touched by the sight, by this festival of remembrance?
Or perhaps they see Janitzio as being a place out of time,
A curiosity lost in it’s cultural past, this island home of mine.
But the world of the city is far away, here life is slower, the air is clean,
And the blessings of God’s great creation are all around us to be seen.
So each year we pay homage and deference to the names of those gone before,
We thank God for their lives, and by the flickering torchlight, we offer our prayers, upon the lake shore.
© Juan Pablo Jalisco