Hello's and Goodbye's--From The Native American

Written by: gautami phookan


He wasn't a homeless wanderer,for him do not feel sorry,
Owned vast lands in the prairies, his clans where roamed free.
They were hunters and warriors, the spirits they were guided by--
The elements from the flowing spring and to the mountains high.

Their footprints resonate with vibrancy in the vast lands,
Sole inhabitants for eons, their unique presence on sands.
Colorful paintings adorned their mountains and caves,
Carved animals- those spirits protected these braves.

And their hearts harboured kindness, held on to their trust,
But were hearth trespassed and souls pure, ravaged to dust.
Women sitting outside their tepee, weaving baskets of reed,
The warmth of the sun, where their bodies would be left to bleed

On a cold November, the old man winter spread his icy hands,
Looked on helpless, the Cherokee exodus from their lands.
Dragging their dreary frail bodies, heart braves,
Those mark the "Trail of Tears", the silent graves.
Promises false of white men, were treaties made and broken,
Not to fire one standing under "the Stars and Stripes"- the words spoken.
The hearts were torn open in "Sand Creek" as it happened,
The bluecoats open fired, all peace laws were slackened.

The natives were riddled with bullets, no tears left to weep,
Blood red on the earth brown, bodies lay in a heap.
It was never a war, which they were meant to win,
The troops were raised to kill, unaffraid of committing this sin.

The earth was their dwelling place, now their soul was bared,
Imprisoned  in the reservation camps, lives that were spared.
Those who wouldn't suffer in the camps,  for a life so demean,
Into death trenches jumped, piercing flesh went deep a skene.

Free their spirits, for ages now their souls homeless roam,
For the earth is still waiting for her children to come home.
As their legends around the campfires will be told,
Joining them in the bright flames, rise their spirits old.

((The sgian-dubh (/?ski??n 'du?/ skee-?n-DOO; Scottish Gaelic pronunciation: [s?k??n't?uh]) is a small, single-edged knife (Gaelic sgian) worn as part of traditional Scottish Highland dress along with the kilt.))

3rd place in the contest
For PD's Contest : "Hardest Poem Challenge"
My Assignment : Couplets ( 15 set or more)
      Categories: Funeral, Native American and Art
      Title: Hello's and Goodbye's
(done within the stipulated 3hrs time)