Black Elk-Hehaka Sapa Poem by Osceola Waters

I was born in the Powder River country,
The Sioux knew the feeling of freedom then,
Magnificent country with no boundaries,
The buffalo herds were immense,
When they were on the move, stampeding in mass,
The ground would talk as it moved under the weight of thousands upon thousands of endless buffalo,
My people had a land of plenty,
We lived a life of contentment,
Not a life of resentment,
Happiness and harmony all around,
Unification of a nation,
Strength in our unity,
The sacred ground beneath my feet still suffice,
I see a wind of change bringing dark shadows across our destiny,
I have had a vision of sacrifice,
A vision of war and desperation,
The numbers of buffalo that covered the prairie have vanished,
All that’s left is a trail of bones and rotting carcasses,
I see a place of starvation,
A place called a reservation,
Futile aspiration,
The night mare goes on,
The screaming of terrified people pierces my ears,
Thick chocking smoke irritates my eyes,
The smell of gun smoke and death fills my senses,
I see the massacre of men, women and children by soldiers dressed in blue,
They deliver indiscriminate death,
All in their path are cut down,
Our tee pees burn along with our winter provisions,
Our horses are rounded up and slaughtered,
Our children are trampled by foot soldiers and horses,
Babies dispatched by the heel of a boot,
Flashing sabers cut down running mothers while holding their babies,
The soldiers are instruments of government power,
Land speculators and cattle barons,
We will fight the un winnable fight,
Win the battle and loose the war,
In the end though our demise did not eventuate,
We will become strong again,
Our pain will subside,
As time slips into history,
Stories will be told,
And the truth will unfold,
In my vision I see the return of the buffalo,
The white man learns that conservation and preservation,
Is paramount to survival,
That the destruction of our mother earth and the plunder of her resources must come to an end,
That war is no answer,
There’s no winners, every body looses,
All the people will unit,
A web created to capture our dreams,
The medicine wheel will project to the stars,
A bright light will spiral and plummet down upon our mother earth,
Then we will embrace peace,
And be enveloped by true spirituality,
We will glow with an aurora,
For the master of breath will walk amongst us,
Every day the sun will shine,
Rainbows will decorate the horizon,
My vision has now finished and I am back in reality.
Osceola Birdman Waters.
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