Tribal Atrocity.

Where have we all gone,
we, of the Continental Song?
Our tribes have scattered;
from one corner to the other;
crossing the boundary,
belonging to another,
blue-blooded dandy forces,
imposed upon the blood that courses –
through these very veins,
alas, half of me is ashamed…
Where have all of the Eagles flown,
do they, like us – call no place “home”?
Our people were shattered;
from head to toe bone;
put off on our own,
in the wastelands we roam,
stolen sacred prophecies,
small-poxed, drunken atrocities –
bronzed statuesque,
yes, we gave our very best…
Where has the great sacrifice led?
Buried beneath the bones of our dead,
Our soils grow green trees born of,
a chisel-cheeked dark, strong blood,
it bleeds red and true…from sky to sand;
our forefathers’ burn fires through our hands;
deceitful lies, so much blood in our eyes –
I can hardly see through–
but they can see me with my mixed skin,
and I’m just as confused as any of them.

Tribal Atrocity.

Tribal Atrocity.

Tribal Atrocity.

Where have we all gone, we, of the continental Wind Song?
Our tribes have scattered; from one corner to the other;
crossing boundaries belonging to another,
brute forces, pumped with the same blood that courses –
through these veins, aye – I am ashamed;
although I would not make a single change…
Where have all of the Eagles flown, do they, like us – have no home?
Our people were have shattered; from head to toe bone;
seeming contented with the wastelands we roam,
stolen prophecies, war-fared and small-poxed into atrocities –
bronzed statuesque, yes – we gave our best;
our collective spirit can still rise against…
Where has the Greatness led, buried beneath the bones of our dead?
Our soils are born of, a strong blood, it bleeds true…sky to sand;
our grandfathers’ names burn testimonial ink through our hands;
deceitful lies, maintains so much blood in my eyes –
I cannot see, there – and they cannot see me;
A native who is a foreigner in her eldest forefather’s country.