The Thief and the Shaman

The Thief:

God, my God, I wander here

I’ve helped myself to the earth’s crops

picked grass and berries

trees and stones I’ve used

I haven’t touched the settlers’ stuff

just what grows I’ve taken

Then someone came to me

and called me a thief

The Shaman:

You don’t know the customs of the land

you don’t even know about me

Look at what grows and watch out

Let the marks on the trees give you an answer

even the grass you have to see with other eyes

The Thief:

What sort are you

Are you a man

or do you think you are a god

Is it you who created the grass

got the trees to grow

Aren’t you also just the dust of the earth

Like me you are also a creature

The grass isn’t yours

The trees, the stones aren’t ours either

Be master of your own things

What’s good is good

I realize that you exist

you black wizard here on earth

You keep to your place

and enjoy that grass you grow

The Narrator:

The thief and the shaman fight

Finally they set off on a journey

over streams, over lakes

Trees and stones they cover

The old folks have yoiked to strangers

about the shaman’s deeds

Times come, times pass

The shamans are the trouble-makers

They envy unbaptized realms

exhaust with their awful activity

He is still and silent a long time

says when he gets the chance

Be closer to yourself

He goes his own way and comes back

The shaman can’t carry out anything

Is laughed at in his captivity

He holds his fingers straight, doesn’t fold his hands

The Shaman:

Be the master now

Thief, you’ve become lord

of these berries and stones and grass

go away, far away from here

Where you come from, there you shall go

I still have power over you

I’m going, I’m taking, putting aside

I’m throwing you far away from here

The Thief:

Then you’ll perish and vanish, you shama