Sheer, go West, go Arataki
deep into the tunnel,
the nature expands,
the old Kauri trees hug around us;
Tall to hail,
lower branches bending to hold all reaching hands;
the rumple of the dam water does not
make us age in the wrinkle,
but the blink of the lover’s eyes,
it is where the beautiful faces mirror,
the creeping loves see to the water,
respond to the sweat, and
merry hearts of the dam workers,
from the rushing falling of the water.
The rugged, rough, broad, bearded men
existed in the rails, the river bridge, the pipelines.
On the chest, the lady’ s comfort;
the shoulder, brought the hikers’ pleasures;
the hands of every stones in the creek.
The thirst, the West workers’ day desire
is the moment, the Aucklanders’ like,
to hear the poem echoed in the swirling turbine,
to experience the falling pleasures of the water.
I loathe the muddy, hilly, slippy roads;
I loathe the narrow, risky, tricky, winding tracks,
but the sight of the rails, the long pipelines,
the cement, wood bridge,
the metal, the cement pipelines,
I can not complain.
who cares of the fishing quota
for pleasures it does, but the fairness,
of what public means,
bigger than the industry.
Another thing, we do not swarm the beach
with all the modern fantasies,
only some deep, secret happiness.
The crash waters of Piha,
is our paradise of wild dream
to conquer, to forgive,
to catch up the moment.
The innocent men,
you know you see us go through the water,
see you as gentlemen,
waving hands as the tram moves along.
Where is the Hilary’ treasures,
hidden in the bush,
I guess,the shinny tears of the mosses,
green and fluffy like spring lamps on the fresh greens.
In rest, the birds chirping always bring your merry faces,
the thick branches still stretch out
as your hands grasping on ours.
A boulder in the hill is like a thrown gravel
into the lake of the bush,
knocking on your heart.
oh, wake up,
my men, your sleep gives so much silence
I want to sing, to dance
as your little kid.
Your honestness belongs
in this West, you remain as the fairness goes.