The Haka in the House "They Cry, We Cry, Aotearoa"

 

The Haka in the House

 

They Cry, We Cry, Aotearoa

 

Outside — the wind in gusts and gales so often blown,

Within these walls where mixed seeds are sown.

And upon this sacred ground where you place your feet,

In halls and corridors where indifference meets.

Lo, the winds of change, in their assertion cast,

So much doubt — redress and rightful claims recast.

But now a call to rise, each one, to stand —

You cannot bind the spirit of the land

Within a long white shroud, nor have the Haka banned.

For here, Waiata and Haka both must take their place,

Beside our anthem — steadfast, filled with grace.

 

Waiata (English)

 

You can no longer hold the tide,

Nor we, in shifting winds, divide.

In bonds of love, let hearts now meet,

Oh, hear our voices rise — entreat.

For we are one, by treaty signed, our fate,

A partnership once promised — let it now awake.

 

Waiata (Māori)

 

E kore e aukatia te tai e pari mai nei,

E kore e wehea te hau e pupuhi nei.

I roto i te aroha ka tūtaki ngā ngākau,

Whakarongo ki te reo kotahi e karanga atu ana.

He whenua kotahi, he moemoeā kotahi,

He tiriti tuku rangimārie, kia tū tahi.

 

(The tide cannot be held, the wind cannot divide —

In love our hearts meet, one voice calls;

One land, one dream, one treaty of peace —

To stand as one.)

 

Haka (English)

 

We thirst — we thirst — to be heard, to be heard!

Our ancient right and privilege — to be heard!

But first, the chains must break,

The shackles fall, the veils of smoke unmake.

Within this land, beneath this house,

Our ancestors restless, stir and rouse.

Inside these walls their spirit bound,

Yet still, in us, their voice is found.

They spoke of equity — of honour to be —

We thirst again to hear the Haka proud,

We thirst — we thirst — to speak aloud!

 

Haka (Māori)

 

E hiakai ana mātou — kia rangona!

E hiakai ana mātou — kia rangona!

Whati ngā here, wawahia ngā mekameka!

Whakakorea te kapua, kia kitea te ao mārama!

I raro i te whenua, e korikori ana ngā tūpuna,

I runga i te whenua, e tū ana mātou!

Kia kaha te ngākau, kia maia te reo!

Whakarongo! E tangi ana te whenua!

E hiakai ana mātou — kia rangona!

 

(We hunger — to be heard!

Break the bonds, shatter the chains!

Clear the smoke, let the light be seen!

Below, the ancestors stir — above, we stand!

Be strong of heart, be bold of voice!

Listen — the land itself cries out!

We hunger — to be heard!)

 

Karakia o te Kotahitanga — Prayer of Unity

 

Let the dawn break — ka ao, ka ao!

Let light return upon this land.

Let hearts unlearn the fear they know,

And courage take each open hand.

 

For ignorance has cast its shroud,

Its whisper spread from hill to cloud,

Yet knowledge waits — and kindness grows,

Where once division’s river flows.

 

No longer two, nor torn apart,

But bound in spirit, bound in heart.

Let truth be heard — both fierce and fair,

Aotearoa — all standing there.

 

Ka whakatika te iwi kotahi,

Ka rangona ngā reo katoa.

He whenua kotahi, he aroha nui —

Ka ora tonu, Aotearoa!

 

(The people rise as one,

All voices shall be heard.

One land, one boundless love —

Forever shall Aotearoa live.)

The Kaitiaki Wait

 

In anticipation, the Nation waits —

For the Haka to rise like thunder, erupting from the earth.

Kia ora manuhiri, nau mai ki tō tātou whenua tapu,

Welcome — step with care on sacred ground.

Bind your words, hold your steps,

Lest you wake the bones below.

 

For here, beneath your feet, the legacy of the Whenua stands firm.

Te Āti Awa iwi — far from forgotten,

Spirit of the land, root of the past.

Its truth, twisted by time and treaty,

Steeped deep in inequity —

A partnership broken by the Crown’s sleight of hand.

 

As each generation passes,

The wairua of ancient time passes too —

To preserve the kaitiaki,

To hold fast the memory, the promise,

In chants now seldom heard,

In Waiata and Haka, the voices of the land still echo.

 

Their sound rolls across Aotearoa,

Commanding not permission —

A privilege to hear the ancestors speak,

To feel their footfall shake the floor,

To witness, once more,

The sacredness of a place once stolen.

 

Displaced iwi, sent packing —

A shame unseen, buried in the past.

Now bound in badly rusted British chains,

Post-colonial laws that still refuse to break.

The wail of Waiata — allowed,

Its mourning voice deemed safe.

 

But Haka —

Its challenge too fierce, too unrelenting,

Too loud for comfort,

Too honest for the chambers of power,

Where reality lies buried beneath layers of deceit.

Where truth is feared,

And memory locked away behind polished wood and clipped voices.

 

“We don’t go there,” they say.

Don’t speak of past transgressions.

Don’t bring bitterness to the table.

Let the silence settle in —

Let the Old Boys keep their seats.

 

But another storm brews.

 

From below, the ancestors rise,

Their pounding footsteps shake Pipitea Pā.

From foundations soaked in legacy and loss,

The Beehive trembles once more.

 

Thud. Reverberation. Wail.

 

Let the Kaitiaki speak.

Let the spirits roam unbound.

Let the land, still breathing beneath steel and concrete,

Remind you who it belongs to.

 

For upon this place —

Where ancestors walk by night,

Where tūpuna whisper through the flax,

And the stolen Pā glows beneath city light —

Still sits the House of Law,

Built on confiscated ground,

Where silence is policy,

And truth is tabled only when tamed.

 

But the old ones stir.

 

The vow of silence will not hold.

The wairua will not rest.

The Kaitiaki are not gone —

Only waiting.

 

And the Haka will rise.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (Oct 2025)