Red Road Rising

Joy & Resistance

Joy and resistance.

Not sullen and weak.

Our hearts are strong, but why do they paint us so meek?

The smiles, the laughter…

Where did they go wrong?

“Dying culture” you type.

“Poverty everyday” as your camera clicks away.

Our culture is not dying, our culture is reviving.

How can you miss the daily persistence?
The everyday resistance?
The smiles as children play?

I don’t think you can, but maybe that’s just my way…

Or maybe yours is tainted with the smog of today…

The need to have an underdog on display…

Perhaps you’ll see in time, we’ve always be rising…much to your dismay.

So give every child a camera,

Every elder a pen,

Bind their works together, maybe then you’ll have a worthy display.

Decolonize

They say a tribe is a people and a people are one but why are our cities so divided among?

Silent plans to divide us, enslave us to one.

We’re many so why should we fall to these plans unsung?

Women, elders, youth, men when will we disconnect from this matrix veiled by guns?

It’s starts with the mind, free yourself from their tide.

Push back, fight back, struggle till the leader of conformity cries.

Make em weep till their tears clear of our ancestors blood.

Let em fall to their knees so they may finally see clearly.

Then help em back up to a world of sincerity.

Operation Thunderbird

Tick Tock. Tick Tock. 

Our women are missing.

Shhh…

Can you hear that?

Their spirits are whispering. 

Every place one of ours has fallen,

Has a soul dancing for justice to not be forgotten.

You may have pushed us aside…

Oh, but we have not repressed our sisters bloody breasts.

The blood splattered is across your chest.

Everyday that passes another life slips away,

Another family with hearts on display.

How foolish you are to think we’d run away…

Tick Tock. Tick Tock.

Something in the Wind

Alone, I am never.

Fearful no more.

Their courage fills my breast with an undeniable roar.

Beat crashes down,

Pouring through my veins,

A blood curling yell pulses over terrain.

Wherever I step, they’ve been.

Where I dance, they’ve sang.

Where I sing, they’ve drummed.

Something in the wind…I know you feel it too…

The cold breeze dancing on your skin,

A sudden chill,

Secrets whispered, released throughout the hills.

“Move!”, they yell through the stars at night.

Don’t let this chance slip aside.

Swirling around me in smoke filled dreams,

She whispered to me, slashing through the screen,

“Don’t worry child, you’re alone nevermore.”

#IdleNoMore

Pledge to bloody fabric,

I’ll flip it upside down and dement it.

Demented —- your allegiance to a country plagued. 

Plagued with a white plast,

Tortured and hardened by days past.

Stand up,

Rise up,

Fists in the air, their times up.

Notice served,

Eviction read —-

Your landlords awoke, this time is dead.

Thunderous cries will fill the streets,

Drum beats guide their feet.

Seven generations in the making,

Now we rise for the taking.

Taking of our rights,

Our children,

Our women.

Take no more.

Soon, you will no longer be our burden.  

Thankstaking Ignorance

Pilgrims and Indians hand in hand, feasting on this beautiful land…

Ignorance.

1614 lock ‘em up.

Chain ‘em, gag ‘em, throw ‘em up.

“Patuxet”, they’ve never heard this name…

“Patuxet”, just another word for slave.

Bounty of skins set across the ocean,

White privilege leaving behind disease unknown.

Squanto…

Lone survivor on a shore covered in blood,

Stood strong with good in his heart,

He wanted to see them thrive.

One year down,

One selfless Patuxet,

One feast breeding friendship?…

No, greed.

1637 men, women, and children,

700 men, women, and children,

700 men, women, and children of the Pequot tribe gathered in true spirit of the Green Corn Festival.

Predawn,

Sleep,

Sweet dreams.

Surrounded…ordered out…

Those who dared —- clubbed or shot.

Those too scared —- set ablaze.

Turned to ash in a crippled haze.

“A day of thanksgiving!” They proclaimed.

A feast for murderous plunder —-

Oh, there’s no better way.

Pillage after pillage,

Victory for blood.

“Thanksgiving! A celebratory feast over heathen savages!” Declared the very house of God.

Rolling skinned heads through joyous streets,

Chiefs beheaded —- slammed into cold metal.

“Feast!” They said with blood in the air.

“Feast!” They said with scalps entangled there.

Great white father suggests just one per Winter…

Just one feast for the blood they spilled…

For the children they killed.

Just one…

Honest Abe decreed a national holiday —-

Honest Abe decreed a day of thanksgiving —-

Honest Abe decreed 38 hangings.

38 innocent skins dangling from rope in the name of thanksgiving.

Ignorance. 

Russel Means

Word of your travels comes with great sorrow,

A warrior returned home while we wait the morrow. 

You stood for our rights when they were threatened. 

Our traditions when they were smothered. 

Our people…in fact, you stood for all. 

No words to describe the gift you’ve given.

No words for the story you’ve written. 

We will not wait idly by,

We will not stand and cry. 

Your body may be gone, but you still live on. 

Your voice may be silent, but your yell is still strong. 

We hear you brother…

We will continue to fight…to survive…

We will continue to thrive. 

Lila wopila kola, toksa ake. 

Pe’ Sla

Born from her core, I know she beats for all that is. 

This is where we’re from,

Where we pray,

Where our stories were told back in the day. 

My soles stained red as I walk the road around her,

Pointing to the stars and all that surrounds,

This land beats with the power of ten thousand drums.

In my heart of hearts I know this is love I’ve found.

So hear me now —-

You will not destroy her.

No roads will pass,

Nor foundations laid,

Not as long as we’re here…

We will not be swayed. 

Pe’ Sla, the heartland of the Oceti Sakowin (Great Sioux Nation) will be auctioned off on the 25th of August 2012 to the highest bidder. This land is apart of our creation story, we believe this land is the center, the heart, of everything that is. Please help us save our heartland by following the link below, and donating what you can. Every bit helps. Spread the word, keep us in your thoughts and prayers. 

Mitakuye Oyasin

http://www.indiegogo.com/PeSla-LakotaHeartland

Upon Suffering Beyond Suffering

It is said the Red Nation will rise again…

It is said we’ll be a blessing for a sick world…

Foretold there are those among us who carry knowledge to bring light to dark.

Believe your dreams are wiser than waking,

Believe in the stories handed down.

If you feel lost, know you’re not…

Our blood runs deeper than this town.

If you’re sleeping, now is the time to rise. 

We’re stronger than pain,

Stronger than want,

Stronger than all of this.

Put down the beer, remember your children.

Put down the knife, you need to live.

He said he saw a world in seven generations,

A world where we’ll be needed…

That’s not too far away.

Upon suffering beyond suffering we will rise…and we will rise as one.

Remember

It is said the final chapter in any successful genocide is one where the oppressor can lift their hands and say “What are they doing?! They’re killing themselves!”

Guess what…they’re right. 

We’re killing ourselves from the inside out,

White washed we’ve forgotten our own traits.

Christian names and alcohol games…

We still chasing casino gains?

Hold up…step back…circle round and remember the chant. 

Scratch that, its not a chant—-

You see what I mean?

We’re not that. 

Plastic shaman turning ceremonies to festivals,

Even our Chiefs have turned their back.

Pull up your pants, don’t you remember gangster is not warrior, and drugs are not our salvation. 

Stand up for your elders they deserve an ovation.

So sing it loud, and not in English…

Remember your own tongues, for they’ve never deceived us.