Indigenous, we raise our swords
Exiled be those who fall
A waving flag is small when seen
From the window of a castle’s hill
If you look to the sky
They pretend to fly
Travel to the south to garnish blame
Pull the string and rise without shame
A gold bar is waiting at the store step.
Under the carpet of a wooden porch,
Patiently rotting amidst debacle
Lies a key for a shackle
He looked as I reached for my gold
And I said “You must understand
That I am to inherit the earth”
Before their eyes, a queen
Floating away on a machine
Never to be understood
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem