We Have No Right To Tell Them How To Live.. Poem by RIC BASTASA

yesterday we visited
the mountain
we walked for hours and
hours
until we reached this
small village of
natives who do not speak
our language

they say they are free
to roam the mountains and the forest
and kill animals
and eat them for food
they say they own everything here
and no one tells them what
to do with their lives

they hunt: kill and kill
they do not till the land
they say they own all of these
and they are not responsible
for any degradation
for any consumption

this is paradise and they do
not have to work at all.

we stayed for hours listening
and watching their world
their mountains and forest
we who have no right to tell
them how to live: the

road smells blood
the room of the house is a mess
children are left on the grounds
without their mothers
men smoke their pipes
women sit on the stairs
pulling some lice

the old men drink hard liquor
with the old women
when they die they are buried at
once without those long rituals

this is paradise they say
they spend it the way they want to
and we merely watch without saying
anything: we just pass by and it
will be soon that we leave and perhaps
forget that this is paradise for them.