A Migrating Tribe

Dreaming of my ancestors

I see them walking from afarpassing through the deep black nightFace after dark faceappearing from distant grasslandsTheir shoulders draped in capes knit by moonlightbear the night that has just fallen asleepWhen a deepblack riverflows past this landthere’s always a pair of beautiful eyesthat close without fearon the dark, restless mountainsBut the ancestors’ totemwill be raised high as alwayseven though a brave chiefdies at dawn

(I see a child standing on a hillholding a severed umbilical cordfilled with grief)

I see them walking from afarThe wind transforms their footprints into the Nuosu scriptThere’s an ancient epicnarrating the affairs of life and deathBut those valiant menand those affectionate womenalways bear beautiful fruitfrom their straight foreheads and wild chestsWhen those mysterious objectsfall to the earththe distant virgin forest will let outa pained yet sweet echoAnd therefore a black treewill grow furiouslyfrom the womb of this landthough a pair of doomed lovershangs dead from this tree

(I saw a child standing on a hillholding a severed umbilical cordfilled with grief)

I see them walking from afarwith an ancient sun above their headsnot knowing if there’s still an evening starbecause an old man was cremated at duskNow there’s only a group of pregnant womenin the wildernesssinging for someone’s birthWhen stars fallonto the precipice of all smilesthe evening star still glimmers thereOne day when a lullabyreally does become a lovebirdwill an ancient Peoplestill be filled with rose-colored delusions like thesethough after thunder and lightning passall an eagle has leftare bleeding wings

(I see a child standing on a hillholding a severed umbilical cordfilled with grief)