We are the children of Aotearoa —

Stand tall, and stand firm.
The tremors of the earth shoot through our heels and into our tingling spine,

as stoic as Aoraki’s peak

our sweat reminiscent of its mighty glaciers.

We are the children of Aotearoa —

Strong, and powerful.

And now, the silence is broken

as the leader begins his shrill chanting, releasing his energy,

willing the pulsing river and mountains to come to a standstill —
There are no inhibitions, no fear, no embarrassment.

His tongue jerks out of his mouth like a lizard.

His hand reaches upwards to the heavens. God, listen to us now. Ancestors, energies and spirits of the universe, old, ancient and wise —

listen to us now.

We will walk together to the end of our journey. We will defend our land.
The war cry begins.
Ka Mate, Ka Mate Ka Ora, Ka Ora?

Will I die? Will I die? Will I live? Will I live?
The spears inch closer to the heads of the enemies,

swiftly and poignantly through the night sky.
It strikes.

On the primitiveness of the soul, and of men —
Tears of anguish stream purely down faces, glistening in the night light.

There are no thoughts of masculinity, homosexuality, pleasure and self.

Everything is bare,

painful,

and raw. Life at its most natural state.
And as the man lie amongst his brothers, young and old, tears pooling onto his skin, he says:

Do not grieve, or weep on my grave. You are still with me. Though your heart trembles.

I will not be there, in the soil. I will encompass you.

I will be the wind that blows.

I will be the swift of lighting rush, the small relief.

I will be the small star that glistens in the night sky after a thunderstorm.

I will not be there for I will be here to encompass you.
Life, spirits, gods, surges through his nerves and bulges through his eyes. Passion and reverence.  All of our times intertwine.
And as the woman kisses his face for the final time,

the dove brushes its feathers on the skin of her sweaty palm.
And one day, as the man, the dove and the woman too will return to the soil as well. Into the land.

We are the land, and the land is us —

As the dove leaves her grasp,

So does he.
We triumph with life, over death.
Kia huri au te tai whakatu a Kupe, Ki Te Tai o Matawhero i motu mai!

So I turn to the sea which Kupe raised up, to the sea which breaks at Matawhero!