I am the child of the jungle

I am the child of the jungle

proud of those who are called Yekuana.

Because we own

of large rivers

and the rapids

Orinoco

our parents

for many centuries

sail

in bold curiaras

cut in the trunk of a tree

slow opens

to measure patient and stubborn

of iron axes

and the raging fire.

Now listen

I’ll tell

the story of our life

Our people

is an immense home

Round

and

upright in the middle of the world

with the roof

stretched to the sky.

Its wooden frame

high wisely

teaches us

from father to son

the world of our ancestors.

The center pole

is the support of the firmament.

And the two beams

slender and strong

supporting the roof

the call

the Milky Way

illuminating the night sky.

When I Grow Up

proud

I will meet with my friends

in the central area

of our common dwelling

where our mothers and sisters

silent

We serve meals and drinks because that space

is ours alone.

We are strong

but

sometimes

one of us

sick.

Then the wise man

started hard

in solitude and fasting

sits on his bench-tiger

and with their songs

maraca and sacred

invokes Wanadi

which created the universe

where the Yekuana lived alone.

At the Roundhouse

man back against the center post

-The long stairway that leads to heaven-

finally cure evil

stone sucking

that sick

We

the long nights

rocked

by the gentle swaying

of our hammocks.

Silently

listen

our parents and our grandparents

that have

stories of yesteryear.

At the beginning of time

when our only food

land was

Kushu monkey

learned that the inhabitants of heaven

cultivated cassava plant.

Knowing as we nagged

hunger

flew skyward supreme

he discovered the fertile plain

Stole quietly

the most beautiful plants of cassava

hid

under his fingernails black

and crossed the lower heavens

to earth

and planted the root celeste

From that day

satiate us

with generous fruit

gives us that Tree of Life

they can only sow

our mothers

who carry them

life of our tribe.

Long ago

there

two huge eagles

Dinoshi calls

devouring all living on our land.

Then the water snake Kurene

went astute and courageous

because

in earnest

our fear was very large.

Wielding his blowgun

smeared darts with curare

I bought this deadly poison

Piaroa our neighbors.

When he saw the Dinoshi

swiftly fired their arrows

eagles and crossed from side to side.

In his flight from death

bloodied the sky

raptors left

a groove feathers

that were

adrift in the clouds.

The feathered entourage landed at last

in our land and became Kurata

With this same timber

manufacture since then

the fine blowguns

with which we approach

our unsuspecting prey

who sing and cluck

at dawn.

So have

those who know

When our parents return

of distant shops

or

when our people ends

construction

Round House

celebrate our joy

dancing – singing – drinking

two – three – four days

steadily

to empty

the curiaras

our mothers

have filled fermented beverage

Our most beautiful ornate pearl necklaces

and our scarlet guayucos

face and body painted

with annatto

entered the round

at are

of trumpets

maracas and drums

and we dance and we turn

at night pale

the jungle

sleep tired and silent.

We know the secrets

of rivers

where we like to swim

carried

as leaves sleepers

or upstream

flush with the bedrock.

We know

Far course of our rivers

and even infinite number

its meandering

etched in our memory

that has no books or writing.

Sometimes

the whole town

goes into the jungle

to fetch logs poisonous

to grind and then threw water fish

large and small

begin to float

on current

asphyxiated and stiff.

All the people back together

Cheerful

heavy stomach and hunger.

Gradually re-populate the river, starting

by crabs brazen

which always escape

our fishing poisonous

Me and my old mates

we often

hunting and fishing

blowgun, bow and arrows

and networks.

The forest surrounding our village

we get

with flapping

of fragile hummingbird.

The Rainbow Orchid

in trees

along the river

funny reflected

in the poaching water.

And large butterflies

Color sky start to cuts

whispering space jungle

sometimes

wakes

startled

by the resounding call

Throwing a couple

inseparable macaw.

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