Up
and
down
he walked and shouted:


Who are these people?
Where do they come from?
Why don't they ask for permission
to dock their ship in my harbor?


They certainly look strange,
if they come one step closer
I don't think I could restrain myself
from sending them back to hell,
where it seems they do belong to.


They look pale, weary, hungry,
they talk so fast
and say words that I cannot understand.


They use some kind of a language
we have never heard before.


The men act quite funny,
their women look shy
and the children look around
with eyes of fear and the desire to cry.


Yes, they do dress so much in black
with those silly looking hats
they truly do make me laugh.


They also brought a religion,
customs, will power and songs
for someone they call their God.


I do not appreciate that!


I simply cannot believe
this is happening to me
while in my own land
I breathe…


This is crazy, so bizarre,
yet Squanto* thought about it
as he took one step back,
then he smiled taking a chance.


Since that day,
the shoreline of Plymouth Rock
has not ever been the same.


* Squanto was a native American Indian of the Wampanoag tribe in the land we now call Massachusetts. He was an invaluable friend to European settlers who arrived in the early XVII century.





© By Emiliano Martin(Poeta48@aol.com) circa 1996

 

 

 

 


Watch these pages for more poems by Emiliano.
In the meantime, click the links below for
poems and stories by our other authors.


A Day In The Park

Day After

First Snow

Quiet Time

New Year's Eve

The Island

House On Hobb's Hill


And.......for many others, click the index image.



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