A european voyeur; stood steadfast across a roaring river.
He had found the forrest dwellers; absorbed in timber; a tribe of forty members.
Gathered on the river banks of no currency; the shores of splendor.
Where water was pure like pouring britta; the poor cleansed their pores in swarms of fingers.
Washed their wounds of war with pitchers; huge leaves; that caught the weather.
It was August 7th. The expedition lead us to a remote land; north of our villa.
Our mules saddled with swords, porridge and silver
The lush green jungle back drop was dead gorgeous -
Picture the glimmer of the reflective surface of water; our ancestors mirror;
Rushing, along and you are hardly remembered.
Mosquitoes bites through the long sleeves of the Nautica sweaters
Every body is on anti-malaria measures - cautious as ever.
We have embarked on our endeavors; and have found the lodge in the forest's swelter.
The people here are wearing no clothes; torso of feathers.
The last shred of dignity for humankind - found in the wardrobe of settlers.
It is early morning; the sun has risen; their snores have been censored.
The microphone - video camera equipment are morphing together.
Their children run and play on the brown soil - rich with corpses; filtered
Fresh with the remnants of foot prints; of back and forth trekkers;
The smoke wafts through the forrest off a glorious ember
We are standing in the very spot that bore our predecessors;
The great frontier; this imaginary line forms the sectors;
The forgotten man; drawing sand script - sanskrit - foreign letters
Planes fly over head like a large birds - born with engines
According to legend... these people are the last of the forrest dwellers
So isolated; they've escaped both benefit and burden - sworn from heaven
They haven't saw us yet. They are still busy with the morning agendas.
Our guide, tells us - "whatever we do; Do not shout towards the Seneca
It is important not to disturb the 4th world" he says - adoring vigor.
We had toured through dementia; time warped visitors
The smell of tobacco drifted across the river into our nostrils; calming force of fementa
The Sun beamed off our liquor flask; and it a dawned; a dilemma
The natives gathered; we were now the ones being explored from the perimeter
Our awesome adventure was now danger; breath shortness; Guerilla
We all waved our white hands with reassurance and quivered.
The Indian loaded his bow and let it soar for Seneca.
Standing there - shooken down to the core of our center
"return fire!"
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VETWORK
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