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First People :: American Indian Poems and Prayers

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The Time Of The Cree

I hear the crackle of the fire and see the painted warriors dancing.
I smell the sweet grass burning and watch the buffalo prancing.
I wear my bone and beads and feathers and hearken to the drum.
I sense the presence of the Creator; the time of the Cree has come.

I ride the vastness of the plain and see the mighty eagle soar.
I hear the whoop of warriors and the thunder of battle once more.
I see the flashing of the spear and watch the bending of the bow.
I listen to the voices of the elders who died long-long ago.

I sense the rising of the Nations and watch the earth release our dead.
I see the war parties gathering readying for the battle ahead.
I feel the beating of my heart and the rhythm of the drum.
I ride my spirit into battle; the time of the Cree has come.

I feel the pounding of my blood and see the blinding mist of war.
I know the time has come when Whites will rule no more.
My Nations dead return and herds of buffalo roam the plain.
I see the lodge poles rising and know the Cree will live again.

© Ray Is na wi chah

Other poems by Ray Is na wi chah: Going Home, My Nakota Woman, The Time Of The Cree and White Man Come.

 

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