Native Cry This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

February 14, 2018
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The grass sways in the wind

My love for the golden sea of the Great Plains

The sweetness of the breeze

As I stand where my ancestors stood before me

My feet kick up the dirt as I run with my brothers and sisters

The breath of the Holy Creator lifts our breasts

And calms our souls

The buffalo move and so must we too

The horse that is mine is marked with my hand

The freedom makes me shout out my native cry

The pride in my people brings me joy

The river's fish granted to us by the Creator

As is the buffalo too

Hunt in the day, dance in the night

For a future of freedom and warmth of this prosperous tribe

I am an Indian boy but soon I will become a man

And when the white men come to take my sisters

I will become a warrior

to fight, bleed, and die with my brothers

for this is MY land, MY freedom, MY family, and MY home

Why must the white people not understand?

Why must think only of land and paper dollars,

When my brothers are dying,

And my sisters are crying?

Why must they take what has been ours for generations?

The Creator has granted us this land since the beginning of time

So why?

Why must our blood decorate the earth,

that is our Mother?

Why must our last breath be taken looking at the sky

to the sun, our Father?

Why must our pain and tears fertile the land?

And yet...I am a savage??

I fight for my land, my people, and my freedom

I fight for the warmth and sweetness of life

Yet...I'm a monster??

Why are we trapped on reservations?

Land unwanted by all

We scream and cry no more

For years of tears have wielded nothing

Our voices silenced, cut from our throats

My people has been suffering since the Mayflower

But no one listens, sees or cares

We were put out of sight out of mind

My people continue to sing for better days,

For the past
When Mexicans were Natives,

When blacks were strangers,

When whites were non-existant

My people are dying to this day

From the poisons of the white men

Alcohol, tabacco, drugs

We are forgotton

Only a single page in history books

That spew lies of our bloodlust

We are viewed as nothing

Not a story on the news

Tells of our suffering journey

Of the life on reservations,

Home away from home,

prisons,

Used to break our spirit, faith and culture

But we are NATIVE AMERICANS

So like the bravest of warriors

Like our ancestors

We will sing, dance and fight

For better days






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