Native Essence: A personal apology

Personal constraint: Feminine building

I was, yo era
Soy, I am
The essence,
The day before the dark Bush cloud

Mi Tierra, my life
Before the Bush cloud took it,
Now the father sky,
Is dark upon my bleached face,
Mi Sangre, the river,
Death from above,
The day of the dark Bush cloud

My blood, mis jóvenes,
My offering of humanity,
My building of consciousness,
The young laughter, the frolic,
Generations of my river of life,
Now, no more building of
My rivers and mountains,
The sounds of my young’s laughter,
The day of the dark Bush cloud,
Swarms my life, my land,
And my young.

You came as a pestilence,
And suckled me, mi Tierra,
Tigaqueki gahuntagali,
Ne Echro, Ixhagona jorrichwanirha.
Now my breast drips poison,
Onto the land, and my sons.
No more building of the young.
Now you would have us drip,
Your poisons into far off lands
Where you turn sand into glass,
And the yellow and red never set.
You took their sons and the building
Of their young.

You took nothing, less my feminine,
Tohne geihate onontes,
The mountains and rivers
Are not mine,
And my young were humanity’s

In your tortured mind,
What you took,
Was from yourself.
Your God, your pestilence,
Your famine, your death.
Long after the day,
Of the building
Of the dark Bush cloud,
What you cannot take
We were, we are,

An essence,


I am sorry,

Allan Hill

About batai52

Brother, father, photographer, filmmaker, writer, artist, veteran, Iroquois/Scottish, aquarian and lover of Martinis "so dry you have to blow the dust off." There are many I admire: Maya Angelou, Ezra Pound, Morris Dees, Cornel West and Alan Alda (Hawkeye Pierce M*SH) for his art and activism. A true activist. Me? Just a ripple on a wave, a feminist in training (FIT) ;-) and working on my own human condition. Onward . . . . .
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