The Tribe Chief Of Seattle Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

President Pierce, don’t ever send your clown to message
your tough warn, and don’t threaten the Tribe Chief of Seattle;

Master of the planet, his tongue cannot roar as yours.
Yet, if he says 'I buy your Indian land or else I shall burn it',
his eye will turn pale, his high pulse will remove his eyes.

If the Chief replies ‘dark falcon, come and get it if you dare'
(emigrant Greeks oil-sellers, had taught him Greek) , how,
could your inimitable buffon, transplant Leonidas's bravery?
His grimace will freeze, so by loosing his humour he is lost.

President, you send a snail crawling in the rain. How
can comprehend Indians who say 'we grew in this land,
we don’t sell it, we owe to deliver it save to our children.'

Does your clown know about such loans of inheritance?
The only words of the Chief he could possibly understand
concern the kids from both sides (love by both is same) :

‘…our children have the moon in their eyes.
Nature ripens them while they play with small flies.
The rainbow displays them the orbit of the arrow,
the stone advises them how vigorous their arms should be.
They handle every glittering needle of pine as an amulet,
in the forest’s shade they pray for us to have a lucky hunt…'

President, don’t send your clown in battle soot; Think over,
being tied with dreams we’ll not be defeated by your jokes.




© JosephJosephides