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Fia Naturie posted in the group National Poetry Month
My Land
I was told this was home
I was given it on silver plater
They fail to tell me that I would have to steal itWords written on paper was crafted beautifully
Penmanship to die for
That was it…
The hidden messageTo die for
I can not take what is not mine
Can land really be mine
The oil and coal pillage from mines
Stepping gingerly on well placed land minesI want to have that slice they promised
A pie with fruit filling
Instead of the maggot filled circular tin
Given to us with a deceptive grinWe can give back the land
Then where will we go
Back to a continent and nation we do not know
This is now our land, our homeWe should be proud
Making cities out of concrete and stone
Instead, we bare the mark of a land that we stole2 Comments-
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Thank you Curtis;))
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In Indigenous culture and belief, no one owns the land, we inherit it and are part of it and must share and protect it, leaving it in better shape for future generations. I think this is a much better culture, belief, and morality than what we have in today’s world. I like your poem because it points to this kind of understanding. A very fitting poem for Poetry Month (or anytime ).