And my heart …
Have I a heart?
You crude and covetous woman
Daughter
of no race.
Where is your greenstone mere
Your cloak of kiwi feather?
Where your crown of honour
Even a lovely face?
Denuded of all grace are you!
All that I am
Is here
In yellowed limbs
And curdled
Blood.
That pathway is not for me
Neither is that.
I must hew my own way through
The tangled undergrowth
Toward the open space.
My ears are deaf
To the screaming
Allurement
Of worldly gain.
Neither do I hear
Whispers and soft sibilance
Of sanguine sloth.
Although I be unfeathered chick
Forward shall I go.
Good deeds shall be the kiwi cloak
To warm my chilly breast,
Wisdom and truth
Shall be adornment
For my lowly brow.
The fruits of knowledge
Shall be the greenstone mere.
And in my heart
Shall be love.
Ah yes, you lonely waif,
Product of bedded strife,
Even you,
Oh child in arms,
Oh shivering babe,
Soon you shall know,
Know the love of man.
Then dear maid
Will you be
The kin of Gods.

nā Katarina Mataira