The river meanders through the now
On to tomorrows all the while silting
The past onto its bed, revisiting it.
Deeds and land and titles and contracts
Circumscribe the river’s ownership, and
Peg its worth to the whim of the marketeer.
Blood and rage and tears tear through
The fabric of power eking out cries, cries
Older than power, and as old as sin.
Machinations of modernity confound deed
With law and the harvesting of seed with
Reflections on dead leaves and stolen tales.
Silence at the root of the river bed
Listens to the wind, to the chirp of
A wayward bird, to the mountain, still.
I Am The River – Documentary on the New Zealand Maori on aljazeera.com