Massai Warrior

Traditional garb, his spear in hand

The Massai warrior stands tall,

Proud of his heritage and of his ability

To frighten the enemy by his mere sight.

Today he danced before a foreign President

Who had no notion of the rites of passage

Or the way to hunt, or why this manly man

Could dance in front of him, so confident.

A difference in skin color and foolish documents

Called degrees, supposed to prove one’s worth,

Made the other feel self-righteously superior.

Does he know the patience with which

You arm yourself while waiting for the kill?

Is his arm as strong as yours when you cast

Your spear and neatly kill the beast?

He need not strike his prey himself;

He lets others do it for him; his victims

Are not animals, but men he never sees at all.

He kills with bombs, with machine guns.

He heat senses those he cannot see.

You dance defining strategies, you give

The prey his chance and in your deep beliefs

You honor him, his spirit and his place

Within the cycles of this life. Not he,

Who kills for gain alone, not game.

Who then is the greater warrior?

© Nyuka Anaïs Laurent    02.02.2010