February 28, 2009
By Anonymous

I can fill the hot dirt under my bare feet and the wind on my face
The suns burning my skin as I race the wind
As I run I wonder why do they call me a savage

I see my people up ahead the smoke scent strong
I run pass the woman who weave
I run pass the children who yell and play
I run pass the men who are strong and tall
How is this savage

Fathers strong hands lift me high
Mothers soft laugh makes me smile
Brothers large bodies blocks me from the sun
What makes my family savage

My friends call me and I run to them
We watch and learn how to weave
The elders face matching the lines of the basket
When did this become savage

A man with skin not like my own comes from the trees
A riffle in his hand and his face distorted
More come their face the same hostile shield
Why are they not savages

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