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What are the skulls of the Day of the Dead?


To the bride, groom, mother-in-law, compadre, grandparents or whoever you want

Give a skull

Because the year has not been like for gifts …

But first …

What are skulls?

Skulls are an essential part of every Day of the Dead. Moreover, an essential part of Mexico and point. From primary school, our teachers had us writing skulls as these dates approached.

In case you don’t know them, calaveritas are small poems in verse, written with humor, irony or some spicy Mexican gesture. Its main theme revolves around death. That’s right, since primary school we make fun of death.

These skulls are usually dedicated to a loved one, but they can also talk about famous people, Mexican artists, politicians (they touch them with less affection), or even yourself. The important thing is that at some point you play with death.

The idea of ​​this tradition, like many around the Day of the Dead, is to record that death is something we do not accompany every day. It’s not necessarily bad, but, like skulls and altars, it can be full of colors, flavors, and happy memories.

Inevitably feel nostalgia, of course, but it is a recording that we are human and for all we all go.

How are you? Why hide the inevitable, we better see it as part of the walk, because this body is borrowed and life passes in a second. There we will end up meeting.

Anyway, you came here for skulls and as I do not want you to die waiting for me, here I share about seven with everything and dedication:


Now yes, the skulls

For the bride (Yes, you Valentina, what else?)

I went to the flower shop and bought you some flowers

Then to the square that was passing by

I buy you three weird, colorful dresses

And for dinner wine, cheese and chilies in walnut

But when you came by the market, thinking of your glows

A ruthless calaca appeared to me by surprise

“I come for your life, don’t hide, don’t cry for me”

Dark and cold, that’s what that skinny woman told me

“At least say goodbye to the love of my loves”

“But leave your gifts,” he replied very angrily

And that’s why I’m here, ignore the rumors

I did not forget our anniversary, but your gifts

Death left me with nothing.


For the mother-in-law (obviously not for me)

I wear it all week with Jesus in my mouth

Is it my time, is it time for me?

I feel that a very dark figure follows me

Did the calaca come to my grave by chance?

The voice in every corner, I look crazy

I told this to my girlfriend, cold as rock

And just then I saw the figure again

“Dinner is served,” he told us sweetly

Apparently I will not die today and that if I am happy

But now I know very well that my mother-in-law is watching me


For the compadre

My compadre never needed to have fun

To drink your alcohol

The important thing was to measure yourself

Against all but his kidneys

Oh buddy, you left me

And you didn’t leave a drink of your liquor

Now alone, here very sad

I feel like watching the flowers die

But what do I see in the distance?

It’s the calaca that comes laughing

And next to me my compadre and his festivities

That he was not dead, he was partying!


For grandparents

In this house where everything is old

Where there is a lot of food and few rules

I grew up believing that far away

On his altar he would place the old ones

A goodbye to those teachers

That in life they leave a mark

That death there in heaven

So welcome them to a party

In the meantime I wake up

On the altar with his photo placed

Because this Day of the Dead

I don’t take a nap

Until I see my grandparents

Every night like this

(Ya ba’yorar)


For parents

My father and holy mother

I’m fine, I swear

I learned it with the flip flop

Although we are far away right now

Not even death scares me

Because I spoke to her very seriously

So that you are never taken away

(ya’toi yorando)


For the brothers

I was walking with my brothers

From prank to prank

When unwittingly wanting

We did a lot on the adventure

“And now how do we get back?”

Ask my sister, the most mature

And at least we thought so

A calaca appears to us, with a very hard expression

“To return they will have to give me a soul”

That tall figure told us

“Sappho give mine” he replies hastily

“Who told the last one?” asked the bony one

And after much debate, we take her to the brink of madness

“Enough! Stay your souls, but stop the torture ”

And that’s how we escaped

Of a very certain death


For your bosses (don’t send it to mine, please)

One Friday like another

Locked up in the office

They all left, they left me

They closed up to the curtains

I thought they had finally made it

Going crazy with your routine

When he appeared in front of me

A dancing calaca

It looked very amazing

When I smiled at that catrina

“Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid of me,

Doesn’t your guillotine land on you? ”

Naive skinny, I was waiting for you

Pa’que take me far, far from this corner


And so far we have left it for today because I was already in a lot of trouble.

But do not stop sharing this tradition, which continues to run through our veins.

And by the way, send me yours, I already want your poems empty.




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