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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

This poem is a poem that addresses some of the outcomes in the colonizing of New Zealand. It also talks of the effects it has had on the indigenous Maori people.

Submitted: September 05, 2018

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Submitted: September 05, 2018



Ships hoisted with WHITE sails.
Hoards of treasure so they say;
ideas, ways of life and laws,

those that impregnate the virgin refusing to call you daddy.

A ploy of so-called santas,

promising gifts of happiness amongst the Land.
Why does the compass point south east
du Fresne, Cook and Tasman?

‘Land Ho!’

White supremacy, blanketed in a ‘how do ya do’
and limp wristed handshakes.
A treaty written in reversible ink,

my ink not.
Trickery of the sorts,
and yet you pass the blame.

It can’t be the fault of who weareth the crown, or govern the body,
but this non-existing and existing entity you have dreamt up.
Do you not feel the guilt to back out of your cringe?
No, not until you’ve taken our Land,

our Identity,
our Culture, our Language.
An eater of worlds,

bringing about generational disgust, disease, destruction.
The Navajo and all alike, too, cry our tears.

However, the ejection of ‘mana’ and the injection of ‘kawanatanga’ shelters you.

Lucky, cause we would never concede it,
so, clever, are you not?
And in the end, blinded by your ego,

you dare say,
‘but it was all in the past.’
Well my good man,
[Stuff] you.

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