‘The Red Indians’-by Mohammad Hannan

People say, “They are gone”- a mist in passing time.
But I find’em in mound of
Still gazing all around!
I see many of them, on the hill tops, dark down
In the southern sky. I can smell their breath, hear their
Laughter-Like before the White men came.

You can’t imagine-
Still they play! Hunt in my heart!
As I feel it walking, by the river Black-Warrior.

The new people also play and hunt before you-
You have all the time to see them through.
They also gaze around this world-like that dead, old Red Indians.

I can’t sleep with the sounds of horses-Not of the new people,
The Red Indians. They ask me to
Play with them in their ground,
I lose them in the skyscrapers.


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