Ohio & N. Kentucky Indian Issues
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Dekanogi Ulogilv Williams
some lessons hurt still today
Sun Jun 5, 2011 6:49pm
75.81.199.133

Paid in Blood!



The sun is high, and cast deep shadows
heat of the day, is now upon us,
a quiet time, in the village
all, are resting
near by, the river gently gurgles,
shade from the trees, share a coolness,
fragrant breezes, softly blowing
carry murmurs, from the old ones.

Grandmothers gather, speaking together
gentle voices, quiet laughter,
working together, to make a meal
skinning rabbits, cleaning fish,
roots, and fruits,
sweet young girls, come at their bidding
bringing bowls, and meat platters
carrying water, for the clean up.

Soon, the evening fire, will be built up
alerting kin, time to draw near,
children, carry out the back rests
for the Elders, old, and men folk,
places set, around the circle
women, and children begin the serving
being careful, to see all
have food, and water.

Then, into the circle, staggers a small boy,
run, he cries, and collapses
blood soaked, and trembling,
run, he pleads, do not look back
do not, try to take a thing
just go, and keep going,
who, what, where, the warriors are shouting
why, are you, here among us.

No time, the small one stammers
gather your children, run for the river,
the soldiers are coming, we could not stop them,
please, just go,
I will explain, once we are hidden,
people exploded, into action
grandmothers, gathering children
like mother birds, with new chicks.

Warriors, grabbed what weapons they could
herding, the others before them,
trying to speak, to the young one
while moving to safety,
lifted to a shoulder, he lay weakly
so much, blood he had lost already,
but they must, know
what he did, to defend their people.

Too late, they were surrounded
women, children, old ones
dropping dead, around them,
the soldiers in blue, brought cold slaughter
if it breathed, they killed it,
Stalking Crane, was carrying the young boy,
trying, to get him to a safe place
when a sword, went through them both.

Cold, and dark, shaking, with shock, and pain,
Stalking Crane, opened his eyes
wondering, which side the veil he would see,
the dead child, drove against him
was stiff in death,
mouth open, in a silent scream,
he tried, brave little warrior
so hard, to give my people a chance.

I, do not even, know his name,
why he died, or from where he came,
carefully, Stalking Crane lifted him away
blood, erupting from his own chest
where the sword, had punctured
the dried blood of both, had saved his life,
now, he must find mud, and moss
to stop the fresh.

Stumbling in the dark, he ran
searching, for one left alive,
moaning, was coming from his left,
there an old grandmother,
humped, and huddled
two young ones, alive, beneath her crying softly,
come babies; he said softly,
come with me now, to safety.

Five more, he found that night
some, crawling still, toward the river,
with care, these would survive
of a village of a thousand, six lived,
spirits torn, and frightened
running each day, or hiding
not knowing why, their families had died,
not knowing where, there might be shelter.

Toward the west, they traveled
in lands, not their own,
hoping for sanctuary, among enemy, or friend
so long, as they were not white,
hating,
in pain, lost, and lonely,
joining a band, also running for their lives
from a foe with no heart ,spirit eaters, they were called.

Finding safety, for short times
but soon, again they must run,
generation, after generation, nothing changed,
moving on, barely ahead
of senseless death, and destruction
not understanding why, it was not enough,
why, there was not one place,
they could call their own.

Screaming pain, trapped in my mind,
no words, will ever say enough
too many questions, and there are never answers,
no way, to make right the damage done
the hatred, that tore apart a whole world
and left a people, trapped
lost, and crying out,
for justice.

Voice, lifted up in prayer
inside, my spirit is denial,
why, can I not say, what needs saying,
why, can I not help, bring understanding,
they had no right, to come here,
no right, to destroy our Nations,
they have no right, to ask more,
they have no right, to be demanding.

Rage builds, but turned at self,
needing answers, I can not find,
searching heart, soul, and mind,
wanting, to make the changes
to do what is taught,
to bring the real, truth to light,
no more, should we need to hide
from who, and what we are, how, can we make this right?

Grandmother sun, golden bright,
Father Sky, Mother Earth,
help me, to reconnect
to what my grandmother taught,
let the hating fade, and the healing begin,
learn, to speak with unega words,
use their own laws, to make them understand
it is they, who must accept.

Once truth, has been shown
they, can never again, place blame on us,
it was they, who were wrong
and now, must face the blood guilt
so we may all, go forward,
now, true history, must be taught,
it was not they, but their ancestors yes,
but it is they, who must make the changes, or bear the guilt.

Their own laws say, restitution for a wrong
be it life, or death, property, or wealth,
now, they, should live by the laws of their land
learn to accept, they must share,
it is not we, who should pay
our debts, were paid in blood,
let our children rise,
and walk proud.

War is hard, and the soldiers
did only, what they were told,
some knew regret, for their deeds
and so, the horrors, were written in words,
kept forever, black, and bold
medals, given for their murder
on a people, helpless, now must be returned,
so the truth rolls!

as taught by my grandmother





granny

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