NativeTech: Native American Technology and Art ~ Poems & Stories


Child's Paper Hand Cut-outs
made by Nancy Jane Martindale's found in the 1852 family bible.
Whispers In The Wind

By

T.W. Martindale
Sagwu Usdi


My thoughts are forever restless÷. So endless÷.
Echoing questions come rushing through my mind÷.
They are questions that refuse to be silenced!
So many in numbers÷. Yet they linger unanswered.
Many are the dreams that continue unfulfilled.
Dreams that began so innocently÷. But still÷.
Perhaps a little selfish in nature.


A path seemingly for the purpose of self-fulfillment,
Thinking to establish who this person is÷. Such arrogance!
In the search, my eyes have finally opened÷.
They have opened to the significance of my journey.
In my conceited mind, I thought I knew, but did not÷.
It is of greater consequence than searching for one's self.
Much greater÷÷.For it is to seek out truth!!


The truth and nothing else will put my mind at rest.
But this truth seems to be beyond my reach÷.
For to reach the truth, I must find the past,
And to find the past÷÷.. I must reach the truth.
As my mind frantically grasps for it, I can feel it÷. Hear it÷
I hear truth whisper softly in the still of the night.
It touches my face and down into my soul÷.


Its answering pleas are written in the wind.
Yes, truth reaches out and soothes in a gentle caress÷.
It speaks with the voices of loved ones long since past.
I can hear many voices thought silenced long ago.
Just as I÷.these too refuse to be silenced÷.
They are the voices and shadows of families lost.
Lost÷.Seeking to be found by kindred blood.


Listen to the voices as they echo in the night!
Feel them as they are carried by the fingers of the wind÷.
Hear the lonely sounds of their anguish and pain!
They reach out in the dark silence of the night.
Reaching out to me÷÷..AND to you÷.
Torn from their homes and loved ones÷. They cry out!
"Here we are÷. Do you not feel our presence? Hear us!"


Yes÷.I hear them÷. and you can too.
Voices like whispers, will us to rest from our frenzied searching.
As we frantically sift through endless information, they wait.
Waiting÷..Waiting to show us where the true journey lies÷.
It is not merely a search for our OWN identities.
Granted÷.this is a truth that one must seek, but not just so.
We must reach into the past for those deserted and forgotten.


A journey that began as a search for me has changed directions.
But No! It has not changed its course altogether!
It has altered its path to become one with that of forgotten loved ones.


They have subtly merged their paths like a flowing mountain stream.
They seek to be reunited with those of us, their kindred blood.
Yes÷. This too is what I truly wish!
To finally find, not only me, but also all those I hold dear.


I have felt their sorrow AND their pain.
Where once they knew the freedom we so proudly boast,
This same liberty was quickly and ruthlessly stolen!
They cried out, but there was no one to hear and none who cared.
Their freedom÷Their lives÷Even their dignity was torn apart!
Even so÷. This merciless massacre of human worth may still be mended.
But not by apologies, nor by human platitudes can it be done.


This mending must be done by us÷Their surviving descendants.
Although the damage can not be totally repaired, we CAN ease their pain.


They call to us÷As voices whispering in the wind, to bring them home.
We must listen! We MUST÷for upon us they rest their hopes.
NOW is the time for us who love them to BRING THEM HOME!
Their echoing pleas can be heard if we will only listen!
Listen! Answer! Bring them home÷and give them rest.


They gave up their lives for the ones they loved.
And for these same people, we search our family ties.
Yes÷We too love them just as they loved before÷.
Our endeavors to bring the past to the present prove this is true.
Time for blind eyes to be opened no matter the tongue or nationality÷.
We must bring them home and give them rest.
We must listen÷. Listen to the whispers in the wind.

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Text & Graphics © 1998 T. W. Martindale. E-mail: bwilburn@awesomenet.net


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