THE AGE OF THE TANIWHA:
The collective consciousness is singing.
The monarchy is crumbling.
The coloniser is quivering.
Something is coming.
We were forced here
Made to forget the magic of our bloodline
But lies passed down are slowly being buried by shifting sands.
The house they built around us might have stayed standing if only they had paid heed to how the land below pushed and pulled at all foundations.
Colonised hearts and capitalised minds
We’re hollowing
Shuffling in queue towards your stinking promise of gold and fulfilment
Call us something else
We ain’t here for the pity and we certainly ain’t here for your terrible performance
Hands on your shirt like I got 5 on it
Rip your shit up
Look at the whites of my eyes
let me show you
Darting between whites and their wives
Elected officials and tough pills
The temple of your false prophets and promises is crumbling.
Look at the whites of your lies
Let them show you
The windows of this house are already shattered and glass litters your “sacred” ground.
Altar of subliminal hatred
The one you erected for all things “other” had escaped judgement day until now.
Visions of unison and violence
Like venison still blue
Like visions of hurting you
Mountains of spies
The whites with their knives
And the burning cross
of Oranga Tamariki
of DHBs and Harcourts
of School Journals and only learning 1-10 with colours
of debt collectors and Stuff commenters
of MIKE FUCKING HOSKING
Spare me the anthem, Lizzie,
it sounds better faux peace lily anyway
Your system is shaking
Institutional shackles rattling
false gods make way for Old Gods
And the ill laid foundations of your house are cracking under our enlightenment.
Broken windows have always foretold
The felling of empires.
Why are you shaking?
White teeth are rattling
You fear our seeing, our knowing
We take the power back one bricked window at a time
While you claw to every rent payment and orderly voting line
It’s failing
Like an elderly heart, your empathy is waning
Screwed up and spat out by the gods you worship and it’s our fault
Our fault you’re loosing footing on the ladders of
Multiple Property
Probable Prosperity
Governmental Supremacy
Fiscal sensibility
The bell tolls for the rung you’re on intermittently
You put price tags on indigenous mauri
“White Spirituality” at its finest
Yoga as a fitness trope
“Maybe you should meditate bro”
“Are your chakras even lined up?”
You stole a crystal from third eye
To open your third eye
But self awareness skipped you
You stole a rock because
“Fuck capitalism man.”
A thief, thieving from thieves.
Listening to stolen songs
With stolen rocks on wrists and fingers,
Who had to dig through the dirt for the wealth around your neck?
Do we sound angry?
Step down with your bruised ego.
This rage is my birthright.
It’s the rage of Papatūānuku, who’s body you’ve raped without thought, who’s children you’ve stolen, who’s tears you’ve poisoned.
It’s the grief of my Tūpuna, calling out from Te Pō, who watched their people become vilified, who saw the “civilisation” you brought, who fought to keep you at bay, but still you came.
It’s the pain of my kuia, who was beaten as a child for singing in the language her bones were built from.
This is the rage we were sung from. Fuelled by the whenua you are standing on. We haven’t always been angry. We have always been here.
And if you did not see, or did not know,
You will know now.
The collective consciousness is singing.
Heralded by the death of your queen.
The age of the Taniwha is here.
By Marshall Rankin & Lyss Ander