When the Haka Sounds Again

 

When the Haka Sounds Again

His blood begins to boil — who knows quite why?

His pressure rises, anger soaring high.

He thought his “No!” was clear, both firm and loud,

But now they stand again — a defiant crowd.

Their chanting thunders, echoing on floor,

Ko te wairua o te whenua — the spirit’s core.

We cannot tame the wind nor turn the tide,

It lives within our bones — our ancient guide.

In sudden spark, their haka flames to birth,

Old pride awakened, shaking all the earth.

He should have drawn a breath, cast doubt aside,

Haere ki te au — go with the tide.

A thousand battles fought, yet never done,

He fights the cause — his war is never won.

Now his adjournment cursed, decrees reversed,

His blanket rules condemned — his judgment burst.

At night in bed, he hears the haka loud,

Sees twisted faces rising from the shroud.

He tosses, turns, sweat gathering on his brow,

It steals his sleep — the anger burns somehow.

By light of day, he dreads it might appear,

Behind the trees, in alleyways, too near.

It haunts his mind, gives him an axe to grind,

A taniwha of guilt he cannot leave behind.

A real hoo-ha — pork and pūhā stew,

The ghosts he stirred now dine and laugh anew.

Kia kaha! Kia toa! Kia manawanui!

(Be strong! Be brave! Stand fast in spirit true!)

Whakaaria mai, ngā tūpuna e,

Show yourselves, ancestors, rise and say —

Aue! Ka tū te ihi, te wehi, te wana!

(Ah! Stand the power, the awe, the energy within!)

And when he thinks the echoes fade once more,

The haka stirs — begins again — to roar.

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