Here is a lovely poem by a good friend from Sweden: © By Dennis Lindeblad
Our land is our soul, we treasure what mother nature provided for us,
honoring our gift to walk through her creations of beauty..
The great one gave us our life to walk on this earth in hope we
always keep her safe...
Thousands of years
we kept our promises
500 years ago
we welcomed them into our garden of truth...
Our land...
No one speaks the words of the past anymore
mother nature poisoned dying...
Our future,
no less, no more
we died for what is truly ours..
Some of us burried by the bullets, unarmed in a massacre in anger
some in hunger in a walk in a dead landscape
without water.
Our history is ours
truly ours..
Native Americans
By Dennis Lindeblad
Once we lived free…
In our own way we created our future,
in our dreams we honoured them who brings us shelter,
our tears rides in the wind for the lost of and without forgiveness for the young ones
who died
for nothing..
Our pray…
Mother nature please forgive us for our sins
nurse for our women and children and our people,
father send us peace and health for the future,
don’t let us die in vain..
Oh great spirit let us walk in your beauty once again free..
Our land is poisoned with greed without understanding
dying in need,
there is no drums of joy
no sacred hearts protecting who we once were
is forever lost…
don’t let our children forget to be proud
remembering who they truly are…
White mans greed
like a dinosaur
Ends…
By Dennis Lindeblad
By Dennis Lindeblad
The grass grows like it will every year waiting to feed the buffalos
mother earth is tired of listening of long lost souls who is dying..
promised land grows in blood,
honour and defeat lay its hand over thousand of years of harmony
in respect remembering,
People who died fighting..
The great spirit let them into his world
honouring them..
Tears of rain cries
with its thunder in lightning
reminding us we are only guests in this world…
All our memories thoughts spoken words and action
lives in mother earth to be remembered..
Wounded knee By Dennis Lindeblad
The beast leaves his horse reaches for his gun
two bullets ,
her baby died in her arms..
Men riding thru firing their arms chasing desperate
people ,crawling thru dirt asking for their life’s
Soldier in blue rise his sword slips throats of children,
thinks his a better man…
Burning shelter without fear ..
Solider poisoned its land
with its act..
Voices of wounded knee
No better war than
unarmed without arms to protect them selves.
Who can call him self a man
honouring his uniform,
buried them in a mass grave with no respect.
after two days
Let us remember them who died in fear
Their souls
died for us to remembering
their life’s
LAKOTA By Dennis Lindeblad
My soul is empty without answers, our hopes and dreams vanished.
our promises our truth our heritage.
They tell us to give up our guns and they provide for our needs..
how can they ?
they hate us for what we are ..
They want us to give up what makes us men ,to provide for our families..
Their people learned us to long for things we wouldn’t dream of,
they gave us things we didn’t ask for..
Like a broken marriage they took our land and left us in sickness without health.
We made our promises and kept them into our heart learned our children
the way of natures band.
We were to many to kill , our needs, our families, our buffalos.
painted into the ground,
in blood
Our great leaders with wisdom hunted down
just kill them for what they are..
Our starvation is another word for reservation .
Id like to die like I was born
free..
Written by Dennis Lindeblad
Words written
like a leaf in the wind
flies
with it's emptiness..
Shadows, fur fills in the shades
of darkness....
Tears ride in the wind
of thunder and lightening.
Souls seeking shelter
afraid of answers bitten by the wind...
A taste of a wonderful dream
smiles.
A man who remembers
talking about the future..
A man who can't hear
rises his voice
without answers...
The unforgiving ones walk
in a nightmare..
Never to be forgiven..
Them who whispers
won't be heard..
Cut me and I bleed.
Truth Written by Dennis Lindeblad
A Man came to us with hope
There is nothing,
put in reservation
forbidden.
Our past...
Walks the line to get blankets,
with nothing to eat,
children walk in hunger
dies.
Buffalo hunters made theirself a fortune
selling only the skin..
In hunger we dance for a better life..
Troops hunting our last people in freedom..
Soldiers
we gave up our guns..
In their hearts they're seeking revenge of a mad man
killing us all.
Our souls rise through the sky in spirits
They are not human
only mad men.
Our frozen hearts published
burried in mass graves with no honour.
Their medals
speak of murders
honoured by their community..
Wounded Knee.
My last breath
They came asking for our weapons..
starving with hunger blinded in trust..
painted by them ..
shots fired..
I lay my head dying within the grass
remembering it all.
soldiers with their guns
fired
to let us know we have to die
for nothing..
Im not afraid..
we all die someday..
Remembers Wounded knee
Oh great spirit
We walked thru creation
we bring our children into this world.
we learned them to honour and know how blessed they are...
Mother nature..
a handfull tells a thousand memories
to honour in our hand..
Native americans