Standing Rock


I have a struggle
In comprehending those

Who are using rubber bullets and tear gas
On these unarmed and peaceful protesters

How far they have lost their way
Since their birth as innocents

I wonder what lives they have endured
To have them land up in this dismal situation

Still, you do get a kind of identity
And the uniform and weapons come free

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on November 25, 2016, in Prose With Pretensions and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 6 Comments.

  1. it’s quite sad, yes!
    at some time
    in all our pasts
    we’ve done bad
    believing it necessary
    to survive.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I have had some of my friends go up to North Dakota from Navajo and other places, Ben. Right now the weather is absolutely frightful, as it is every year in North Dakota in December. The wind, the ferocious cold, and the snow have set down on the plains and are making life miserable for everyone not inside a really well insulated structure. Still, the protestors go out in a blizzard and dance in buffalo robes as the snow comes down horizontally and the wind whips the face, eyes, and any exposed skin. I love this poem you have written. Poets ought to stand for something, and you always do.


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