LONG KNIVES.

I felt the thunder within the ground,
As all our tipis came crushing down,
I heard the screams of people dying,
With women weeping and children crying.  

With war paint on my face, arms and chest,
Because I want to look my best,
As I ride out to answer the call,
That summons warriors one and all.  

“The long knives are coming!” Is the cry,
As all around me warriors fall and die,
The still morning air gives way to the sight,
Two hundred blue coats preparing to fight.  

I charge across the open land,
With shield and tomahawk in my hand,
I chant my battle cry with each passing breath,
As I ride out to meet my death.  

My pony charges so swift and strong,
As it carries me so speedily along,
Then into the thunder of hell I go,
But their bullets cannot find my soul.  

I bloody my tomahawk with a mighty swing,
The screams of death make a terrible din,
Their ranks are broken as they turn and run,
For our bravery proves stronger than their guns.  

Then we are left to wonder why,
So many of our people should have to die,
And still we know that on another day,
The long knives will again come our way.  

Shunkepi Nunpi
October 2003

SACRED LANDS.

I come and stand before you,
So listen to my words,
I speak for all my people,
So that they may be heard.  

The lands you want are sacred,
We hold no title deeds,
They were given to our nation,
So we could hunt and feed.  

No one man can ever own them,
Or sign away these lands,
A million of your dollars,
Would not buy one grain of sand.  

You come without permission,
Into the Black Hills on our land,
You dig for yellow metal,
Even though you have been banned.  

Your words they hold no meaning,
Of what you do or say,
We will not sign your treaties,
For you to break another day.  

We are but few in numbers,
Compared to the might of you,
But listen when I tell you,
For my words are true.  

The lands you want are sacred,
We will not sign them all away,
For the Lakota live upon them,
And it is here that we will stay.  

Shunkepi Nunpi
October 2003

THESE LANDS OF MINE.

For many moons I travelled,
Across these lands of mine,
To gaze upon the beauty,
To see what I might find.  

The Black Hills is the heart,
The rivers are the veins,
The land I call my mother,
Because through her I’ll live again.

I have sat upon the buttes,
As I watched the day go by,
As the sun slowly rises,
Then in the evening slowly dies.  

I have greeted all my brothers,
That share these lands with me,
From the eagle to the buffalo,
From the grasslands to the trees.  

I will carry within me forever,
The images I have seen,
And I will thank the Great Spirit,
For sharing them with me.  

Shunkepi Nunpi
October 2003