Those who have not heard the
Songs of the Fathers
Have not heeded the cries of
Mother Earth
She whose heart bleeds when
Brother’s hand and Sister’s tongue
Shoot indifference
Through the Sacred Circle of the Sky
Rivers red with blood
Rush to stanch the wounds
The mighty forests weep
The buzzard rules the fallen tiger
And little men, with poison d’art
Sit in little metal boxes and
Cackle.
(Previously published in Autumn Leaves, May 2003)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This has a native Indian origin feel to it Laurence. Most enjoyable read. Thanks. 10 from smiling, tired but still twinkling Tai