To Name A Mountain Without A Name Poem by Lovita Morang

Traverse I verse

Into the most dreary,
Teary into the most desolate, I enter
ate these wild berries,
I have learned to grow what that grows on mountain tress,
and out of the seeds of barren, laden, hum wordless
and trackless ways, I wastes my lovely liking
for this living, freeing, in my fist few yards
Feeding these mountains I know are nameless,
With smell of love longings, predatory story countless
uninhabited by man, hundred hills I know

or occasionally infested by birds migratory
Few tribes migrated then and there, their ancestors stationary
Pay dirt, mirth in finding holy day of ritual
Shaman has many songs, to invoke,
Sacred sword, and a war danceperformed by holding a live chicken
and swinging it around one's head three times,
symbolically transferring one's sins to the chicken.
The chicken is then slaughtered, chicken wings scattered feathers,
Fastened on hats of forefathers, they were food gatherers
Nothing but just poetries I derived out strangling the pitiless
cruel savages, as savant traversing into pathless,
Into the mountain, to name the mountain without a name.

-Lovita J R Morang