The Indian

by yudaica2013 ·

Your appetite will leave exhausted land, leaving behind only deserts. This I do not understand it. Our mode of being is completely different from yours. The vision of your cities makes badly to the sight of man red skin. Whenever Charlotte Hornets listens, a sympathetic response will follow. Perhaps because the man red skin is a wild and as such nothing can be understood. In the cities of the white man there is no one place where there is silence, peace. One place where you can hear the rustling of the leaves in the spring, the hum of the wings of an insect. Perhaps because I am a wild and you can not understand.

The noise serves only to offend the ears. So what is life that where man cannot hear solo pio of the OWL or the croaking of frogs on the brink of the puddles overnight? The Indian prefers the soft whisper of the wind splitting the surface of the waters of the Lake, or the fragrance of the breeze purified by midday rain or perfumed by the scent of las Pinas. The air is precious mens red skin, because the everyone feed. The animals, trees, man, all breathe the same air. Seems that you don’t care about the air that breathes to the white man. As a corpse rotting, it is insensitive to the bad smell. But if you sell our land, you must remember that air is precious to us, because projected his spirit in all things living on him. The air that our grandparents aspired to the first vagido was the same who received their last breath. If we sell our land, you must keep it exclusively as sacred as a place where even a white man can go to aspirate the breeze perfumed by flowers from the Woods.Only in this way We will consider your proposal to buy our land. If we decide to accept it, will be under one condition: the white man will have to treat this land animals as if they were his brothers.

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