Poetry

Wampum

We are making the wampum, my son
Like our grandfathers did
History woven through connection
Of minds and fabrics
And fabrics of minds
The world of the people
In an offering of peace

We are making the future, my son
Like our grandchildren will do
Offering our blood
Our land for our rights
Slowly and brutally stripped
We make the wampum to fight
Desperate to save the blood
That our stories might be told
Through the repugnant white noise
That has infected our home

A thousand generations pass
of a people from out of the ground
We are the winds it seems
We are the threads
In our voices we hold the past
like our grandfathers did
so much tradition, my son!
So much blood
In this white noise
We will struggle to breathe
To live as we have endeavoured not
To die as we have endeavoured not

But the wampum will live on, my son
Like the fabric of the people
Forgotten in the history of silence
In the white noise that has become our home.

Randy Edward Nicholas

@redwardnicholas

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Categories: Poetry, Richtig Haus

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