Seema rues about the unmarked graves of the First Nation’s children taken away from their mother’s laps. The Catholic church abused them. Here’s a poem exclusively for Different Truths

A child that was named gentle breeze 
Still fragrant with the new baby smell 
Sleepy and content in its mother’s lap
And a family that was the entire village 

I knew the names of the birds 
And the animals that kept us fed 
Every action in beatific harmony 
With the lands that we so loved 

The canorous circle of life
Unbroken since the millennia 
Severed by savage weapons
And their souls tainted by our blood 

I was torn from my mother’s breast 
The tranquil shade of my home  
Replaced by the murderous walls of the residential schools
Purporting to civilize the so-called beasts 

The aim is to remove, to cleanse the Indian within 
The moral purveyors that snatched our lands 
Would not be satisfied even after stripping our dignity 
They had to fell our souls to feed their perpetual hunger 

I was a thousand miles from home 
An empty belly most of the days
And frightful cold nights spent
Cowering from the monsters that never relent 

The unabated abuses by the anointed ones
Under the auspices of the church and their silent god knew no bounds 
Nor practiced what they preached 
We were the doves caught by the hell hounds 

I suffered a slow torturous death 
Scars crisscrossing my small body
Malnourished, eventually succumbing to the pox 
And buried in an unnamed box 

Unmarked graves moved over and over 
To make space for many others 
Unfortunate enough to be ripped from their families 
Only to end up dead and unloved  

In alien lands far from home 
No prayers of atonement offered 
Nor intimation send to our waiting folks 
Just hastily buried with the coins minted from our blood. 

It only took 100 years to bring me home 
To the lands that I belong 
Many others remain seeking peace 
To be reunited
To be loved
To be remembered 

Poet’s Note: An attempt to give voice to the angst that several Canadians and humanitarians worldwide feel after discovering several unmarked graves for the First Nation’s children taken from their homes. Most ended up in residential schools managed by the Catholic church, where abuse was rampant. Sadly, countless children, some as young as two years, died. The families had no information. Those that survived were left broken. The effects of this are visible to this day.

Picture design by Anumita Roy, Different Truths

Seema Ahira

Seema Ahira is an Indo Canadian poet and spent her childhood and formative years in the twin cities of Hyderabad and Secunderabad. Coming from a multi-religious background she considers herself a strong empath and has an innate sense of social justice. Seema does not consider herself a poet and writes to give a voice to her feelings and thoughts. She lives with her amazingly supportive husband, reasonably well-adjusted young kids and a four-legged child.

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