Black Indians of Texas
Native is the blood that flowed through old ones, like
the running mountain rivers.
It now flows through me…
Sacred Indian dances and black African drum calls
Embellish my memory.
The Spirits of my ancestors still live.
Though white man disapproves and few forgive.
Old stories carried around by the wind,
First the future and the past is back again.
Apache, Comanche, Iroquois, Sioux,
Chicasas, Black Foot and
I am born of the land.
My blood is native truth.
My sons, the sons of man.
.Copyright @ by Talking Medicine 1999
Indigenous people—RED was the color of blood
that they shed.
Being forced to leave their native homes,
To reside in capture, unable to roam.
By those who had no respect for the land,
Not the promises that God had made to man.
Indigenous people—BLACK from
Mother Land, too: under attack!
Sold into slavery, deprived of their tribes,
By those who pretended, God’s word to
Indigenous people—BROWN, robbed and killed,
when other marched through their towns.
Rudely disrespecting their style of life,
Inspired by greed and ruthlessly causing strife.
Indigenous people, by number there are more,
Like Jews and Armenians who died by the score.
What sinister forces must overcome some,
So they murder and force others to run?
WHERE DO THEY COME FROM?
Do you really believe that
Times have now changed?
Time has, but attitudes have not.
There are still those, deranged.
They are the ones who are without self-esteem.
Who have never know love nor the
Indigenous people—we—have survived 500
years of resistance.
copyright@ by Talking medcine 1999