This is a docu-drama,
a subject close to my heart.
Once upon a time,
Grandpa took me for a walk,
Look kiddo, this is the land,
The land of our ancestors.
Here, you remember our fish pond?
The fun we had, you and I,
when uncle drained the pond and we went in,
and laughed with glee as we held the fish in our arms.
This giant Totara tree is mine,
That one is your Dad's
That one is yours.
They are never to be chopped down.
Is it really mine?
Yes, when you and I were born,
We came with our mum's placenta, our twin.
We bury this and plant a tree.
This tree is yours,
This tree will protect you.
The tree is your spirit.
If it falls, so will you.
One day, a greedy drunk of an uncle.
He came with a group of men,
Welding machines, vroom vroom vroom
One is like a giant taniwha/monster.
That piece of paper, in their hand.
Signed with an X.
By that scoundrel uncle.
who didn't know, 1 from 2, after 3 bottles of fire water.
Alas, I return as a grown man.
Tears choking my throat, eyes blurry.
My fish pond is a mere trickle of water.
The fish is dead from pollution.
All the trees are gone except Grandpa's.
We chained Grandpa's body up the tree.
Even the modern men is afraid of our culture.
The last tree standing.
a subject close to my heart.
Once upon a time,
Grandpa took me for a walk,
Look kiddo, this is the land,
The land of our ancestors.
Here, you remember our fish pond?
The fun we had, you and I,
when uncle drained the pond and we went in,
and laughed with glee as we held the fish in our arms.
This giant Totara tree is mine,
That one is your Dad's
That one is yours.
They are never to be chopped down.
Is it really mine?
Yes, when you and I were born,
We came with our mum's placenta, our twin.
We bury this and plant a tree.
This tree is yours,
This tree will protect you.
The tree is your spirit.
If it falls, so will you.
One day, a greedy drunk of an uncle.
He came with a group of men,
Welding machines, vroom vroom vroom
One is like a giant taniwha/monster.
That piece of paper, in their hand.
Signed with an X.
By that scoundrel uncle.
who didn't know, 1 from 2, after 3 bottles of fire water.
Alas, I return as a grown man.
Tears choking my throat, eyes blurry.
My fish pond is a mere trickle of water.
The fish is dead from pollution.
We chained Grandpa's body up the tree.
Even the modern men is afraid of our culture.
The last tree standing.
3 comments:
what a story - last tree standing indeed.
Even squinting, the picture reflection is hard to catch, but the reflection from the text is way better.
Strong and powerful words, on a subject I fell for too.
Hi Ann ! I've just your comment on the Defifoto blog, and I thank you for it, but this blog is not my work : it's a collective blog where we are several author to put picture about the same theme, once a month...
I'm not the author of the picture you commented : I won't take credit of the work of some one else... ;)
My reflection of the week is here :
http://lunedemaledaumon.blogspot.fr/2012/10/weekend-reflections-contest-work-place.html
Anyway it is nice to exchange with you on such an important subject.
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