This one is dedicated to all my Brothers and Sisters from the Hundred Nations Tribes from a pale-face poet with a Sioux heart and no two tongues...

From the spirit of Chief Wahktageli (which means "Gallant Warrior") for Rebecca Kostro, Amber, La Belle Rouge, Art, Morning Star, Southern Comfort and all the others from many Nations tribes not only in AD but all across the land.




I am Chief Wahktageli of the Yankon Sioux
coming through Wounded Eagle Medicine Man
to tell all of you that our spirit are still here
because we can’t go from this, our dying land,
that Pale Face couldn’t live with us in peace,
they wanted all and so Mother Earth at last
wanted them not more, ungrateful children
sucking the last of her milk and left her to die.

We, the Sioux were the First Nation of Hundred,
I am from your Minnesota river a Ihanktonwana,
guardians of all the mountains many shadows
our tribe is a peaceful one of Yankton and Nakotas,
but we know well those westernmost tribe Sioux
the Tetonwan, “Dwellers of the Prairie” Lakotas,
which gave the world the last of the great Chief
with Sitting Bull from the proud tribe Hunkpapa.

From my rocky perch on the mountain top peak
I can see as far as the Isanti, your Santee or Dakota
the smoke from their campfires up like prayers
to the Great Spirit asking forgiveness for the man
that speaks with two tongues, like those of the snake,
and His creation, with arrogance, dared to defile,
killing the brother buffalo not for having hunger,
and the Bald Eagle, because Pale Face couldn’t fly?

I have a tribe no more, my children? in a Reservation,
prisoners by the magnanimity of the two tongues man
that said, “all of this is now ours, and you will have this”
and around many deserts he made a line in the sand.
I am Chief Wahktageli of the proud First Nation Sioux,
my heart is bleeding because I am seeing a dying land,
and I can’t go, yet, to join the Great Spirit of Manitou
as long as what you call your America is treated so bad.