THOMAS LITTLEMAN.

My name is Thomas Littleman,
I am twenty years of age,
I no longer listen to the stories,
Told of yesterday.  

Who and what I am,
Are the questions I ask most,
The simple answer is Lakota,
They’re often proud to boast.  

But is this really who I am,
Or what I want to be?
And is the reservation,
The only life for me?  

They talk to me of history,
And the great men of our past,
But should I really take offence,
When told to eat the grass?  

For does not our constitution,
Apply to both you and me?
Where every man is equal,
And all good men are free?

1970   

My name is Thomas Littleman,
I am thirty years of age,
My head is full of anger,
And my heart is full of rage.  

For ten long years I’ve tried to live,
The way you want me to,
But in that time I’ve realised,
I could never be one of you.  

It hurts me just to think,
How stupid I have been,
And I take back to the reservation,
All that I have seen.  

And now when they ask me who I am,
And what I want to be,
I tell them “I am Lakota,
And I want to set us fee.”  

The children come to listen,
As I tell them of our past,
I instruct them in our history,
And how we refused to eat the grass.

1980   

My name is Thomas Littleman,
I am forty years of age,
And I feel quite contented,
As I move through middle age.  

For my life now has new meaning,
Of what I am to be,
For in a quieter moment,
A vision was sent to me.  

It showed me a bright new future,
With the Lakota true and strong,
As we all stood together,
To prove the white man wrong.  

For this end is our beginning,
To win back all our lands,
And no government or agency,
Will stop our new laid plans.  

So listen when I speak my name,
And tell you who I am,
For my name is Thomas Littleman,
And I am a red skinned man.  

Shunkepi Nunpi
May 2002