Tears of the Children

 

Tears of the children, all over this land, tears of the

children cry out again and again, a soulful cry the tears

of a child, when will it stop, the hate, the genocide?

 

Long ago, on so many forced trails, the children cried

to Mothers, Fathers, Grandfathers and kin, why are

they doing this to us, what have we done?

 

Their bellies screamed with hunger, their tender lips

parched and dry, even life-giving water was denied them

for the blood of their land, because the children were Indian.

 

Nits they were called, redskins, we have to kill them all,

to make sure they do not rise again, for they stand in the

way of what we want; savages they are; not human, not anything

at all like us!

 

We will kill their Mothers and those yet unborn, we must

kill the nits, the Indians, tearing life from deep

within, the womb of Mother the lifegiver to all, we must kill

all the children and all of their kind, for if we don’t kill them,

they surely will rise.

 

The tears of the children echoing on the winds – from

the woodlands to the mountains and prairies and back again.

 

When will it end, was the cry?  We are Indian and we will

never die.  Our children’s tears nurture the soil, ensuring their

strength for the future’s toil, to make us strong – to stop the killing

and genocide.

 

It doesn’t matter what you have done and try to do, our Seventh

Generation will rise again and come back to you, to let you know that

you can never destroy the heart of a people, whose spirits never die.

 

For again, we will rise.

 

A Gathering of Nations mighty and strong, a gathering of nations

come together in song.

 

No more do our children cry out and ask why, our children are here

strong and alive and demanding what is rightfully ours, to put an

end to your genocide.

 

Your weapons of power are meaningless, your money, your

position cannot stop us.

 

For nothing can kill the spirit and heart of a people who are strong as

the people of this land, we are strong and proud and we are Indian.

 

The children cry no more.

 

Svhyeyi Aga

Cherokee

October 25, 2002 ©

 

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