Indians were frequently off their reservations.
quote by Buffalo Bill
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Related quotes
We’re Indians First and Lastly!
We’re Indians firstly!
And that’s the way, we’re known all o’er the globe;
And that is what we tell the world around;
This is our primary identity.
We’re Indians firstly!
We may belong to any state by birth;
Then come our language, creed, community;
We’re Indians primarily!
We’re Indians firstly!
United are we by the tricolor;
The soil is one, though states be many;
We’re Indians basically!
We’re proud of our rich our Indian heritage;
Our thirst is quenched by rivers of India;
Our hunger is appeased by crops grown here;
We’re Indians first and ultimately!
Let none dare try to sow seeds of discord;
The Indian’s free to live in any state;
When asked, let always be our reply,
‘We’re Indians firstly!
God gave one sun and moon to all of us;
We live under the sky, our common roof;
We enjoy freedom got by same ‘Struggle’!
We’re Indians all, firstly!
We’re Indians firstly!
Our patriotism is Indianness;
Our pride’s in being born as Indians;
We’re Indians first and lastly!
All Indians are our brothers and sisters;
We love our fellowmen as our brethren;
Same blood of oneness flows within us all;
We’re Indians first, always, ultimately!
‘Jai Hind! Jai Bharat! Jai bharatiya! Jai bharatvaasi!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-2-2010
poem by John Celes
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Custer
BOOK FIRST.
I.
ALL valor died not on the plains of Troy.
Awake, my Muse, awake! be thine the joy
To sing of deeds as dauntless and as brave
As e'er lent luster to a warrior's grave.
Sing of that noble soldier, nobler man,
Dear to the heart of each American.
Sound forth his praise from sea to listening sea-
Greece her Achilles claimed, immortal Custer, we.
II.
Intrepid are earth's heroes now as when
The gods came down to measure strength with men.
Let danger threaten or let duty call,
And self surrenders to the needs of all;
Incurs vast perils, or, to save those dear,
Embraces death without one sigh or tear.
Life's martyrs still the endless drama play
Though no great Homer lives to chant their worth to-day.
III.
And if he chanted, who would list his songs,
So hurried now the world's gold-seeking throngs?
And yet shall silence mantle mighty deeds?
Awake, dear Muse, and sing though no ear heeds!
Extol the triumphs, and bemoan the end
Of that true hero, lover, son and friend
Whose faithful heart in his last choice was shown-
Death with the comrades dear, refusing flight alone.
IV.
He who was born for battle and for strife
Like some caged eagle frets in peaceful life;
So Custer fretted when detained afar
From scenes of stirring action and of war.
And as the captive eagle in delight,
When freedom offers, plumes himself for flight
And soars away to thunder clouds on high,
With palpitating wings and wild exultant cry,
V.
So lion-hearted Custer sprang to arms,
And gloried in the conflict's loud alarms.
[...] Read more
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Indian Dance
[Verse 1:]
Step in the club head low with the lights down
Made my way to the floor fellas gather round
Step My hips out there make em point and step
Feel the heat that beats in the atmosphere
Just my chest feel the sweat get into it now
I get the feeling we gonna party till they shut it down
people watching from the bar pretty tipsy now
break it down ladies roll it like a gipsy now
[Pre-Hook:]
went in My A, all the way to Jamaica
from New york back across to the bay now
I see you watching and i know you wanna get in me
Boy I have you singing like them indians
[Hook:]
Oh halhalhalhalhaYaaa
Boy I have you singing like them indians
Oh halhalhalhalhaYaaa
Boy I have you singing like them indians
Oh halhalhalhalhaYaaa
I have you singing like them indians
Oh halhalhalhalhaYaaa
Ohohohohohoooo... ohohohohohoo
aho-aho hohohohohoo.. mo-ohohohohohohohooo
[Verse 2:]
Feel the kick in the drums make you move
hands in the air dont be scared let it groove (mamas)
but my body wont stop put you in a trance
Try to keep up with me if you can
Shake Ya Body body, Move your Body body
dont hurt nobody body, keep this party Poppin'
Soo whats the kick on my girls let em see you drop
i put me back to the top and make you hot
[Pre-Hook:]
went in My A, all the way to Jamaica
from New york back across to the bay now
I see you watching and i know you wanna get in me
Boy I have you singing like them indians
[Hook:]
Oh halhalhalhalhaYaaa
Boy I have you singing like them indians
Oh halhalhalhalhaYaaa
Boy I have you singing like them indians
Oh halhalhalhalhaYaaa
I have you singing like them indians
Oh halhalhalhalhaYaaa
ohohohoh...
[Breakdown:]
Freeze the line
(shake shake)
[...] Read more
song performed by Nivea
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Sixtieth Independence Day Celebrations of India (a)
We plan to put a man on moon!
And this could happen pretty soon:
If Indians will stay united,
Our dreams can lift off, ignited!
We have the skills and brains as well;
Let’s persevere always like hell;
Our country vast has problems much;
Our leaders can give ‘magic-touch’!
More Indian brains are being drained;
Our ties with neighbors are quite strained;
Let’s weed the terror-menace out;
Our motherland is great, sans doubt!
With more women at India’s helm,
So nigh is economic boom;
Let’s hit accord in nuclear club,
Avoiding global friction, rub.
If selection is through merit,
The nation will sure, benefit;
Let Indians work with diligence,
From Sixtieth Independence.
Let’s build more shelters for homeless;
Let’s treat the sick with love, kindness;
Let’s guard our children and women;
Let’s turn our motherland, Heaven!
Let’s wipe out poverty ’mongst us;
Let’s clothe our people with good dress;
Let’s feed the hungry millions well,
By concerted efforts, that tell.
Let ryots farm the Indian way;
Let scientists give the final say;
Let’s share with poor all excess lands;
The future lies in our own hands.
Let’s tend sick elderly persons;
Let’s not give excuses, reasons;
Let’s hoist the Tricolor atop
All Indian homes and every shop!
When Bhudia Singh had run long- miles!
And Sania beat top tennis-seeds;
When Shashi fought for UN seat,
And Manmohan clinched nuclear deal…
[...] Read more
poem by John Celes
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Custer: Book Third
I
As in the long dead days marauding hosts
Of Indians came from far Siberian coasts,
And drove the peaceful Aztecs from their grounds,
Despoiled their homes (but left their tell-tale mounds),
So has the white man with the Indians done.
Now with their backs against the setting sun
The remnants of a dying nation stand
And view the lost domain, once their beloved land.
II
Upon the vast Atlantic's leagues of shore
The happy red man's tent is seen no more;
And from the deep blue lakes which mirror heaven
His bounding bark canoe was long since driven.
The mighty woods, those temples where his God
Spoke to his soul, are leveled to the sod;
And in their place tall church spires point above,
While priests proclaim the law of Christ, the King of Love.
III
The avaricious and encroaching rail
Seized the wide fields which knew the Indians' trail.
Back to the reservations in the West
The native owners of the land were pressed,
And selfish cities, harbingers of want,
Shut from their vision each accustomed haunt.
Yet hungry Progress, never satisfied,
Gazed on the western plains, and gazing, longed and sighed.
IV
As some strange bullock in a pasture field
Compels the herds to fear him, and to yield
The juicy grass plots and the cooling shade
Until, despite their greater strength, afraid,
They huddle in some corner spot and cower
Before the monarch's all controlling power,
So has the white man driven from its place
By his aggressive greed, Columbia's native race.
V
Yet when the bull pursues the herds at bay,
Incensed they turn, and dare dispute his sway.
And so the Indians turned, when men forgot
Their sacred word, and trespassed on the spot,
[...] Read more
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Tom Zart's 52 Best Of The Rest America At War Poems
SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III
The White House
Washington
Tom Zart's Poems
March 16,2007
Ms. Lillian Cauldwell
President and Chief Executive Officer
Passionate Internet Voices Radio
Ann Arbor Michigan
Dear Lillian:
Number 41 passed on the CDs from Tom Zart. Thank you for thinking of me. I am thankful for your efforts to honor our brave military personnel and their families. America owes these courageous men and women a debt of gratitude, and I am honored to be the commander in chief of the greatest force for freedom in the history of the world.
Best Wishes.
Sincerely,
George W. Bush
SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III
Our sons and daughters serve in harm's way
To defend our way of life.
Some are students, some grandparents
Many a husband or wife.
They face great odds without complaint
Gambling life and limb for little pay.
So far away from all they love
Fight our soldiers for whom we pray.
The plotters and planners of America's doom
Pledge to murder and maim all they can.
From early childhood they are taught
To kill is to become a man.
They exploit their young as weapons of choice
Teaching in heaven, virgins will await.
Destroying lives along with their own
To learn of their falsehoods too late.
The fearful cry we must submit
And find a way to soothe them.
Where defenders worry if we stand down
The future for America is grim.
[...] Read more
poem by Tom Zart
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Colonel Buffalo Bill
Who's got the stuff that made the Wild West wild?
Who pleases ev'ry woman, man and child?
Who does his best to give the customers a thrill?
-Who?
Colonel Buff'lo Bill
Who's got the show that gets the most applause?
Five hundred Indians and fifty squaws
Ten feature acts and there's the special feature still
-Who?
Colonel Buff'lo Bill
Did you ever see a cowboy rope a steer?
-No, we haven't
Or an Indian with feathers throw a spear?
-No, we haven't
Or a marksman shoot an earring from an ear?
-No, we haven't
Did you ever see a hold up?
-No, sir
Then gather closer
And let me give you some of the atmosphere
The hour is midnight and all is still
We see the stagecoach climbing up a hill
Going along a mountain trail carrying passengers and mail
Never suspecting danger as they roll along
The watchful driver is in his seat
His trusty rifle lying at his feet
Some of the passengers inside seem to be dozing as they ride
Never suspecting there is something really wrong
Suddenly there's a shout
-What is it all about?
What is it all about you ask? It's Indians
-Indians!
Indians
-Indians!
Very notable, cut your throat-able Indians
-Indians!
Just when they've taken ev'ryone by force
Who makes an entrance on a big white horse?
Who starts a' shootin' till there's no one left to kill
-Gen'ral Grant?
No! Colonel Buff'lo Bill!
-Certainly this is quite a thrill, better than all the vaudeville
-Let us be on the go and see the show with Buff'lo Bill
song performed by Irving Berlin
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Missionary - Canto Seventh
The watchman on the tower his bugle blew,
And swelling to the morn the streamers flew;
The rampart-guns a dread alarum gave,
Smoke rolled, and thunder echoed o'er the wave;
When, starting from his couch, Valdivia cried,
What tidings? Of the tribes! a scout replied;
Ev'n now, prepared thy bulwarks to assail,
Their gathering numbers darken all the vale!
Valdivia called to the attendant youth,
Philip, he cried, belike thy words have truth;
The formidable host, by holy James,
Might well appal our priests and city dames!
Dost thou not fear? Nay--dost thou not reply?
Now by the rood, and all the saints on high,
I hold it sin that thou shouldst lift thy hand
Against thy brothers in thy native land!
But, as thou saidst, those mighty enemies
Me and my feeble legions would despise.
Yes, by our holy lady, thou shalt ride,
Spectator of their prowess, by my side!
Come life, come death, our battle shall display
Its ensigns to the earliest beam of day!
With louder summons ring the rampart-bell,
And haste the shriving father from his cell;
A soldier's heart rejoices in alarms:
And let the trump at midnight sound to arms!
And now, obedient to the chief's commands,
The gray-haired priest before the soldier stands.
Father, Valdivia cried, fierce are our foes,--
The last event of war GOD only knows;--
Let mass be sung; father, this very night
I would attend the high and holy rite.
Yet deem not that I doubt of victory,
Or place defeat or death before mine eye;
It blenches not! But, whatsoe'er befall,
Good father, I would part in peace with all.
So, tell Lautaro--his ingenuous mind
Perhaps may grieve, if late I seemed unkind:--
Hear my heart speak, though far from virtue's way
Ambition's lure hath led my steps astray,
No wanton exercise of barbarous power
Harrows my shrinking conscience at this hour.
If hasty passions oft my spirit fire,
They flash a moment and the next expire;
Lautaro knows it. There is somewhat more:
I would not, here--here, on this distant shore
(Should they, the Indian multitudes, prevail,
And this good sword and these firm sinews fail)
Amid my deadly enemies be found,
'Unhouseled, ananealed,' upon the ground,
[...] Read more
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Ten Little Indians
Ten little indian boys
The first little indian gave squaw pretty feather
(little indian boy)
The second little indian made her an indian dollar
(fighting over a squaw)
Well the third little indian gave her moccasin leather
(little indian boy)
The squaw didnt like em at all
The fourth little indian took her riding in his big canoe
(little indian boy)
The fifth little indian took her down the waterfall
(fighting over a squaw)
The sixth little indian taught the squaw how to woo-woo
(little indian boy)
But the squaw didnt like em at all
One little, two little, three little indians
(keep us humming were the ten little indians)
Four little, five little, six little indians
(keep us humming were the ten little indians)
Seven little, eight little, nine little indians
(keep us humming were the ten little indians)
Ten little indian boys
The seventh little indian took her over to his teepee
(little indian boy)
The eighth little indian tried to give her a love poem
(fighting over a squaw)
The ninth little indian said youre my kemosabe
(little indian boy)
The squaw didnt like em at all
The tenth little indian said it really didnt matter
(little indian boy)
He acted like himself and he didnt look at her
(fighting over a squaw)
The squaw didnt care if he never did a thing
(little indian boy)
Cause she loved the tenth indian boy
Loved the tenth indian boy
Loved the tenth indian boy
Loved the tenth indian boy
song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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India’s 62nd Independence Day
We celebrate an Independence Day –
The 62nd on 15th August;
But ‘All’s not well’ with India today!
Let Indians do introspection first.
Our freedom got hasn’t improved poor man’s lot!
Corruption rules the roost in many ways;
In selfish maze, most Indians are caught;
We must improve truly our global face.
Much heinous crimes are increasingly done;
Terrorism is something we must fight;
All vice in life, we Indians must shun;
Our hearts and minds must always think aright.
We ought to labor hard with new-found zeal;
The key to success is perseverance;
All inter-state wounds, we must surely heal;
The country needs much better governance.
We ought to love all Indians equally;
Caste, creed, community shouldn’t disturb peace;
Let’s take a vow to not ‘strike’ frequently;
All internecine problems should well cease.
Let’s join to build a country rich and strong;
A billion souls need food, shelter, clothing;
To fellowmen, let’s never do a wrong;
A song of unity, we must all sing.
Our country’s diversity is its strength;
United, we become a super-power;
Illiteracy must be trimmed in its length;
On leaders all, may God wisdom shower!
The freedom that we got was through blood-shed;
Most freedom-fighters sacrificed their lives;
Our patriotism should not be dead;
Let love for brethren, nation be twin-drives!
Let youngsters dream of making India proud;
Good health for all must be primary aim;
Religion, politics shouldn’t be our shroud;
Our heritage rich, bomb-culture shouldn’t maim!
Let’s sing our National Anthem with fervor;
Let’s ‘talk less, work more’ and progress with time;
Let’s pray and thank the Almighty-Giver;
Let discipline be our advantage prime!
[...] Read more
poem by John Celes
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Soboba
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soccer camp fall 2007 dallas tx
[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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60th Republic Day Celebrations in India (Jan 26th 2010)
Unfurl the tricolor flag, Indians!
And hoist it high upon the mast;
And let it move in freedom’s wind;
And make the country, Indians, proud!
Salute the national flag, Indians!
And sing the song of freedom’s love!
Remember how freedom was won
By Fighters’ Struggle, sacrifice!
Pray for the lives lost in the fight,
And emulate their examples;
Learn to be patriotic more,
And do your duty with fervor.
Take oath to serve our motherland;
Bharat is home of Indians;
We love its varied heritage;
All Indians are our fellowmen!
Let’s foster love, peace, harmony;
Let’s make the country better still;
Let’s unite against terrorism;
Let’s make India, a nation strong!
Jai Hind! Jai Bharat!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-26-2010
poem by John Celes
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Reservations
How can I convince you its me I dont like
And not be so indifferent to the look in your eyes
When Ive always been distant
And Ive always told lies for love
Im bound by these choices so hard to make
Im bound by the feeling so easy to fake
None of this is real enough to take me from you
Oh Ive got reservations
About so many things
But not about you
I know this isnt what you were wanting me to say
How can I get closer and be further away
From the truth that proves its beautiful to lie
Ive got reservations
About so many things
But not about you
Ive reservations
About so many things
But not about you
Not about you
Not about you
Not about you
Not about you
song performed by Wilco
Added by Lucian Velea
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King Of Birds
A thumbnail sketch, a jewelers stone
A mean idea to call my own
Old man dont lay so still youre not yet young
Theres time to teach, point to point,
Point observation, children carry reservations
Standing on the shoulders of giants leaves me cold, leaves me cold.
A mean idea to call my own, a hundred million birds fly
Singer sing me a given, singer sing me a song
Standing on the shoulders of giants everybodys looking on
(old dont lay so still youre not yet young,
Theres time to teach, point to point,
Point observation, children carry reservations).
Standing on the shoulders of giants leaves me cold
A mean idea to call my own, a hundred million birds fly away, away.
I am king of all I see, my kingdom for a voice
Old man dont lay so still, youre not yet young
Theres time to teach, point to point
Point observation, children carry reservations
Standing on the shoulders of giants leaves me cold
A mean idea to call my own, a hundred million birds fly away
Everybody hit the ground. everybody hit the ground.
song performed by REM
Added by Lucian Velea
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Custer: Book Second
I
Oh, for the power to call to aid, of mine
Own humble Muse, the famed and sacred nine.
Then might she fitly sing, and only then,
Of those intrepid and unflinching men
Who knew no homes save ever moving tents,
And who 'twixt fierce unfriendly elements
And wild barbarians warred. Yet unfraid,
Since love impels thy strains, sing, sing, my modest maid.
II
Relate how Custer in midwinter sought
Far Washita's cold shores; tell why he fought
With savage nomads fortressed in deep snows.
Woman, thou source of half the sad world's woes
And all its joys, what sanguinary strife
Has vexed the earth and made contention rife
Because of thee! For, hidden in man's heart,
Ay, in his very soul, of his true self a part,
III
The natural impulse and the wish belongs
To win thy favor and redress thy wrongs.
Alas! for woman, and for man, alas!
If that dread hour should ever come to pass,
When, through her new-born passion for control,
She drives that beauteous impulse from his soul.
What were her vaunted independence worth
If to obtain she sells her sweetest rights of birth?
IV
God formed fair woman for her true estate-
Man's tender comrade, and his equal mate,
Not his competitor in toil and trade.
While coarser man, with greater strength was made
To fight her battles and her rights protect.
Ay! to protect the rights of earth's elect
(The virgin maiden and the spotless wife)
From immemorial time has man laid down his life.
V
And now brave Custer's valiant army pressed
Across the dangerous desert of the West,
To rescue fair white captives from the hands
Of brutal Cheyenne and Comanche bands,
[...] Read more
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Courtship of Miles Standish, The
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Courtship of Miles Standish
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Dawns Highway
Indians scattered on dawns highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young childs fragile eggshell mind.
Me and my -ah- mother and father - and a
Grandmother and a grandfather - were driving through
The desert, at dawn, and a truck load of indian
Workers had either hit another car, or just - I dont
Know what happened - but there were indians scattered
All over the highway, bleeding to death.
So the car pulls up and stops. that was the first time
I tasted fear. I musta been about four - like a child is
Like a flower, his head is just floating in the
Breeze, man.
The reaction I get now thinking about it, looking
Back - is that the souls of the ghosts of those dead
Indians...maybe one or two of em...were just
Running around freaking out, and just leaped into my
Soul. and theyre still in there.
Indians scattered on dawns highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young childs fragile eggshell mind.
Blood in the streets in the town of new haven
Blood stains the roofs and the palm trees of venice
Blood in my love in the terrible summer
Bloody red sun of phantastic l.a.
Blood screams her brain as they chop off her fingers
Blood will be born in the birth if a nation
Blood is the rose of mysterious union
Blood on the rise, its following me.
Indian, indian what did you die for?
Indian says, nothing at all.
song performed by Doors
Added by Lucian Velea
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I'm An Indian Too
Like the Seminole, Navajo, Kickapoo
Like those Indians
I'm an Indian too
A Sioux
A Sioux
Just like Battle Axe, Hatchet Face, Eagle Nose
Like those Indians
I'm an Indian too
A Sioux
A Sioux
Some Indian summer's day
Without a sound
I may hide away
With Big Chief Hole-in-the-Ground
And I'll have totem poles, tomahawks, pipes of peace
Which will go to prove
I'm an Indian too
A Sioux
A Sioux
With my chief in his teepee
We'll raise an Indian family
And I'll be busy night and day
Looking like a flour sack
With two papooses on my back
And three papooses on the way
Like the Chippewa, Iroquois, Omaha
Like those Indians
I'm an Indian too
A Sioux
A Sioux
Just like Rising Moon, Falling Pants, Running Nose
Like those Indians
I'm an Indian too
A Sioux
A Sioux
Some Indian summer's day
Without a care
I may run away
With Big Chief Son-of-a-Bear
And I'll wear moccasins, wampum beads, feather hats
Which will go to prove
I'm an Indian too
A Sioux
A Sioux
song performed by Irving Berlin
Added by Lucian Velea
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India’s Freedom After Freedom
The people’s struggle against corruption
The non-violent war against corruption
The revolution making all money, white
The struggle by the people, for the people
The new awakening of a modern India.
The giant step to cleanse mal-functioning systems
The call to make India truly progressive
The need to make workable laws
The need to make India self-sustaining
The bid to free India ofF its intriguing problems
Let money not be thine master
Let things become more transparent
Let lucre not allure the citizens
Let sense of decorum and duty prevail
Let patriotism fill all Indian hearts.
Let discrimination of all sorts vanish
Let injustice and inequality be removed
Let taxes be levied in feasible manner
Let persons be accountable, responsible
Let black-money and money-laundering be wiped out.
Let price-rise be controlled firmly
Let tax-money fully benefit the country-men
Let harmony and brotherhood prevail
Let sanctity of life become universal
Let atrocities of all sorts be abolished.
Let inhumane practices be prohibited
Let common man not suffer humiliation
Let authorities not misuse power
Let basic amenities be provided to all
Let clout and recommendation disappear
Let labour be decently remunerated
Let citizens reap the fruits of their toil
Let all Indians breathe the air of freedom
Let love and oneness prevail amongst Indians
Let Indians live with honour and happiness.
Let all Indian states be truly integrated
Let divisive forces be stifled by solidarity
Let all Indians live in unity and security
Let India prosper in all ways, always
Let a good democracy rule India here-after.
Dedicated with reverence to a true Gandhian disciple
The Hero of the Indian nation, Anna Hazare
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poem by John Celes
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