Legend - A Story of Papatuanuku - The Earth I Know

Written by Nathan Te Pohe

I am Tane, God of all the forest and creatures that grow upon my sister Aotearoa.  For thousands of Summers and Winters I have watched and guarded over my sister Aotearoa.  The small creatures and forest I guard as if they are gold.  There in the forest are towering Kauri and Rata whispering to the heavy blankets of clouds that hover above them.  Below them grow stout young Ponga, Kowhai and Tawa.  There are many coloured trees surrounding them, telling secrets to each other.

On the ground two kiwis dash about catching fat grub that cover the floor of the forest, while above them, four fat pigeons sit on a Tawa tree picking at the berries that grow there, muttering to themselves. 

I am happy for Aotearoa, for she grows more beautiful every day.  She has many veins and in them live fat brown trout, racing and playing, but when they dash away I know the fast striking sly eel is about, maneuvering its sleek slimy body so smoothly.  Cautiously he reveals himself from under the low bank.  A quick fantail flutters above, snapping up mosquitoes and flies that buzz around the creeks and swamps in multitudes, with its sharp beak.

One day I awoke to hear thunderous roaring.  I glance at Aotearoa.  Gigantic lizards are upon her.  She moans and groans in agony.  A funny, strange smell fills the air and my body is hot.  I start to cry, but can do nothing but watch.  For many days the fire burns and leaves behind scarred patches on Aotearoa's body.  Then each Summer stranger things take place.  I know I cannot guard Aotearoa from this creature that has done this.  The creature is MAN!  Intelligent, reckless, man.  He has destroyed my sister. 

The once towering Kauri and Rata are now decaying stumps, stories of what used to be, long ago.  Instead there are mans inventions, tall shining buildings.  Some spewing black and white death into the clouds, giving them a disease.  I feel like nothing as I cannot guard Aotearoa. The fat wood pigeon is nearly gone.  The young stout tress have vanished, burned to the ground, or trampled by machines.  Her veins no longer run wild with trout and eels, no instead they run reddish black slush.  A disease that is carried to the Sea God.  Man just throws his scraps into the earth, not caring.

But still, Man caresses her, replanting tress and doing the best for her.
But she is not the land I once knew and never will be.
Slowly she dies, and as she dies, I die too.

Maori-in-Oz.com gratefully acknowledge Nathan Te Pohe & Sara Delamere for sharing the above Legend.