INDIAN MAMA

INDIAN MAMA, HER HAIR BLOWING BACK, STANDS ABOVE THE
VALLEY LOOKING DOWN ON HER VILLAGE.
SHE SEES THRU TEARS, THE YOUTH WHO DO NOT UNDERSTAND
WHAT ALL THE FUSS IS ABOUT.
WHY ALL THE DANCING, WHY ALL THE CHANTING, WHY ALL
THE FEATHERS AND PAINT?
IT MAKES NO SENSE TO THEM, IT'S AS IF THEY HAVE NO
PAST TO REMEMBER.
WHO AMONG THE ELDERS LET THE TORCH FALL?
WHO AMONGTHEIR FAMILIES DIDN'T TELL THE STORIES?
WHO AMONG THEIR FRIENDS KNEW THE
STORIES, BUT DIDN'T TELL THEM?
AND WHY?
ARE THEY ASHAMED OF WHAT IT IS TO BE OF THE FIRST
FAMILIES TO INHABIT THELAND?
TO KNOW THE HARMONIES AND PATTERNS THAT MAKE
THIS EARTH.
WHY IS IT THAT THE ONLY STORIES OUR YOUTH ARE TOLD
ARE THOSE OF DOWNTRODDEN,
PUT UPON, PUT ASIDE, MISTREATED AND MISUNDERSTOOD
INDIANS?
RARELY ARE THEY TOLD OF THEIR ELDERS WHO BORE THE
TRADITIONS PROUDLY.
HAVE WE BECOME COMPLACENT--OR ARE WE ASHAMED?
I PRAY TO THE ELDERS AND TO THE GREAT SPIRIT THAT
THIS IS NOT TRUE.

This poem was e-mailed to me by a dear friend!! Thank you so much!!
This page is dedicated to the Elders and their Helpers!
My thanks go to Fernie, John Coutoreille, George Arcand,Dreamweaver, Wolf Woman, Gail Arcand , Mary Thunderchild and the late Victor Thunderchild!

Clipart courtesy of Waya Graphics
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