Hunterandgatherlament
The Hunter and Gatherers Lament.
Gone is our childhood
Our hunting and gathering,
Existence.
Gone forever lost to history.
Our innocence
Where black- boy plant is our spear.
The gift to the hunter.
The grasses a gift to the gatherer to weave.
Gone is our childhood,
Of total acceptance,
Of mother protector
Of all her children.
Gone into our dreams
Soaked in illness and alcohol.
Gone forever to the dusty plains
Of change and white man’s claims,
To progress,
And dreams of the mighty dollar and greed.
Yes, gone my friend but not forgotten.
Never ever well we allow,
It to be truly lost.
For the streets whisper
For those to hear
For those who wish to really understand.
For those with real ears still,
Those who can still indeed dream,
The mother’s gifts.
Those who still can travel,
In their dance and their sleep.
Those who don’t need,
White man’s ways to know
Who they really are?
Help the young ones
Know who they really are.
Give the bottle away,
The glue and petrol all
Will destroy,
Who you really are?
Remember the true beat
Of the clap sticks,
And the rhythms
Of your family dance.
Honor your elders
The aunties of the grey-headed ones.
Wise old man your grandfather
Who can tell,
of bygone times,
the truth of it all?
And who you really are?
And dance the dance,
Of your family signature beat,
Your special gift to the mother.
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