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In the time we stand before the hour of doubt. to Premark the graves we see so sure that some may die. I watch from afar trusting the leaders of our tribe to propel us to something brighter .threw the broken tinted glass of existing beer bottles I saw something better. I travelled to places stranger by plagues they place on themselves. Listening to worries will our people in ten years know who they are? Were will they grow and our grandparents which of those will we know. I sat next to fires wishing the will that the coffin inside may not keep the spirit behind. That the paths that we staggered in our saddest time would not repeat in routine and leave so many blind.
In the night where one stands alone without his/her culture and pride where is he/she, it is where only the devil may find.
i know from experience if you feel empty or lost and the sense of identity is no where to be found ,the calling of your culture is that unmistakable sound.
Remember who you are (native) does have meaning.
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Robert Dodginghorse
well this poem is about my people in time of turbulence and in the time to become a leader in a emotional war between Mecca and identity.
assimilation is my biggest fear of my people this poem is an outreach to tell them they have a belonging in their culture,a belonging in their people.
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