I fell down the first morning

In front of my mother on my knees.

One made me drink the milk of dogs

Warmed on pebbles.

Even today,

When my blood is boiling,

When I feel the storm rising,

I can roar until wolves

Come lick my face.

I knew how to read the marks of time

On the barks of the trees.

I knew how to count the marble chips

On the skin of the snakes.

It’s been thousands, millions years

That it was sufficient;

They still came looking for my children

For their federal schools.

 

This evening, I walk

As before we walked,

As when the moon was wide

By the lake… By lake Huron.

 

One made me live for other rules,

One made me follow other laws;

They said to me: “Little man, the wind does not rise

Upon eagles’ feathers.”

I don’t know how to recognize your imprints anymore

Nor draw my speeches;

I couldn’t even write sentences of love to you anymore

On my painted face.

 

This evening, I walk

As before we walked,

As when the moon was wide

By the lake… By lake Huron.

 

The world twirled too fast,

It took you straight away.

You didn’t have the time to take

Your roots with you.

The day you will find that your story

Is too young

There will have nobody left in the Indian Reservation.

 

We saw at the pale faces’ feet

Fall the last caribou,

While exhausted he dreamed up

Against fabric walls.

I don’t even know what can think

The big shots about it…

When the night falls, I lose my path

In all these new stars.

 

This evening, I walk

As before we walked…