The Tale of the Children's Village

Children intertwine vines around flimsy twigs

And in each curve that the vine created, 

Chrysanthemum flowers lay in harmony 

As the tree sap bound the twigs together 

They stood from the grass they shook 

And put the formed crown twigs on each other's heads

Joviality was felt between one another

With each smile being steadily passed on 

The resonance of gun shots crawled on their skin

And they could not do anything but to try and escape

The crowned twigs were now on the wilted ground

Each stem of grass, swaying with the chaotic rhythm of their running 

As the boots of the armed men were heard in the village, 

With each child taken one by one,

To either serve as slaves or maids alike

All knew that there was no escaping

Mothers disturbed from their husking of coconuts, released an outcry 

Fathers were shot, with each bullet passing through a multitude of chests 

Children with cheeks stained from the salt of their tears

And the domesticated animals, shaken with the tumult

As the village was oppressed, there was one who escaped 

She ran and ran until her feet were coated with the ground's moist soil

With her every breath hitched

She knew she had to tell the tale of her village 

Author's Note

Today is "Indigenous People's Day". This poem pays tribute to the fallen tribes who have suffered from the injustice brought upon them. We need to open our eyes to the reality that Indigenous People face challenges greater than we do, and because of that, we must fight against the corrupt and the selfish.

I hope that this poem has enlightened you somehow. Let us stand with our Indigenous Brothers and Sisters.

Reviews

[...]

This poem is very sad but also very beautiful. History of colonization is written in blood of indigenous people. I like how your poem start slowly from beauty to the cruelty of war and hate. The end is very emotional almost make my eyes to cry.

Sad reality of Native indian reservations is very bad economic situations, sexual abuse etc. It's like war still is real. We can see that on case of pipeline on Standing rock. Great you wrote this.

[R.E. Ray]

This poem honors indigenous peoples across the globe. I see it largely from my observations in the United States, where native Americans (so titled by white historians) were expelled from their land and still remain on "reservations." Their stories are similar to what you've so eloquently captured in this poem, and thankfully, we have their stories, still told today by those who demand more for their people. An extraordinary poem.

[Thalassa]

Thank you very much for taking the time to read my poem.

[Beccy]

The disregard to the indigenous people of an invaded country, goes back further than history chronicles.

Today however, in this so-called enlightened world, there is no excuse for such savage disregard of the rights of others. But of course, to some, no excuse is needed. it is the cull that counts, the destruction and ripping apart of another people's culture for their own selfish ends.

This is a poem that resonates with the reality so many still face today; and more is the pity I feel, that such death and destruction is not rained down upon the evil doers; who I sincerely hope will ultimately face judgement.

Beccy.

[Thalassa]

Thank you for giving time to read my poem. I strongly agree with the evil doers needing to have a taste of their own medicine. It is indeed rooted in history, and as history repeats itself, so are the past rulers replaced with the same rulers of greed and cruelty. We should be awakened from this reality and fight for the rights of the marginalized.