I Could Not Comprehend What Was Comming Poem by Osceola Waters

I Could Not Comprehend What Was Coming.

The cold winds blow from the north,
They bite with frenzied might,
We spend nights by the fire that seem internal,
The flames of the fire hold your eyes in a trance like state,
Colours leap and transform into colours of intrigue,
Blue so blue to match the cold,
Red so red to match the precious heat,
Green so green to match the spring to come,
Yellow so yellow to match the warm wind of summer,
Purple so purple to match distant mountains,
Black so black are the coals that are spent,
Ambers that combine with the blackest black of a fires base,
Match the night sky with stars so bright,
And of enchantment and mystery,
Endless wonder of where and who and how did heaven evolve,
Faces aluminate as the flames dance,
Shadows come alive on tipi walls,
While ancient stories are told,
Dreams come forth,
Imaginations create visions of beauty and the impossible is achieved,
Warriors, ancestors, from long ago are seen as this fire creates an atmosphere of euphoria,
Such peace and contentment of spiritual unity,
Bought about by the warmth of a fire on a freezing night,
The wolves howl in distant hills, and the packs roam,
In a unit of death,
The lonely are vulnerable,
The old expendable,
The sick and the weak, easy prey,
Easy to slay,
Snow drifts feet deep make it impossible to escape the jaws of death,
In side the tipi the complete opposite to what dwells outside the tipi,
Menacing and inhospitable to man kind,
Two communities,
Two unities,
Reliant on its members to survive,
Both brothers of the hunt,
Winter is the friend of the wolf,
Winter is a time of story telling for my people,
A time to count your blessings,
A time to appreciate the winter harvest,
A time for snuggling up in your buffalo robe,
When winter ends and spring arrives, the time of renewal begins,
The Buffalo hunt is to take place,
Our camp is rife with excitement,
Our horses sense the mood of the hunt,
Young warriors anxious to prove them selves as horsemen,
Their skills with lance and bow, fine tuned,
Their best horses are selected and are respected,
The women cry out to their favourites and sing songs of the hunt,
Horses are painted and feathers adorned,
The drum beats and the chief speaks,
Tells the young men what’s expected,
The first hunt for a young man can be over exhilarating,
One mistake in the middle of the herd would be your last,
The horses are fast,
The buffalo immense,
Strength and stamina,
Knowledge and skill,
Go forth into battle,
The hunter to build his winter supplies,
The buffalo understands the sacrifice,
This performance has been acted out since time began,
The great size of the herds could never dissipate,
Our lives revolve around the hunt,
The Indian without the buffalo, not conceivable,
I could not comprehend what would change our way of life,
When over the horizon came men dressed in blue,
Long knives drawn,
Bugle blowing,
They charged down into us,
Thunder that travelled through the air and exploded amongst us,
Killing buffalo, our horses and us,
Right before my eyes I saw the destruction of our way of life now and in the future,
A vision of catastrophe like now other is to cast darkness on our Nations,
Tipis in flames, screams of women and children fill the air,
The sound of gun shots ring in my ears,
The smell of gun powder is every where,
Blood flows and our mother speaks,
The eagle flies in disbelief, ,
The Master of Breath stretches out his arms and cries in dismay,
Why are you killing the chosen ones?
The guardians of Mother Earth,
You have disrupted,
You have corrupted,
My hopes my plans of the future,
Brutality and no compassion shown by you,
Remorse only shown by few,
Delight shown in a drunken soldier as he cuts down a child of three years,
Sabres with no edge break arms and legs,
Mothers beg to save their babies,
No charity shown here,
Well you’re all marked from this day on,
For all eternity you’re all dammed,
Mercy was yours to give,
You chose to plunder murder and rape,
Only these people can ask for forgiveness for you,
Only these people can forgive you,
When the time of renewal comes and all people live in harmony and justice,
When there is no colour distinction,
And we live as people of the rain bow will I forgive you.
My Vision my Dream Osceola Birdman Waters.
Vnvhe until I see you.