Federation of 1901 says 'the aborigine shall not be counted'
Labelled as the 'missing link', the ends justify the means
The cry of terra nullius, shiftless nomads to be discounted
Caste as flora and the fauna, the intent is clear it seems
I am seen as the illegal alien, I've more in common with the refugee
For I see how they are treated, as they flee across the sea
They are not the preferred race, they don’t have the white face
I see their children, I see mine, I see their struggles. Woe. Is. Me.
Displaced, marginalized and voiceless
Policies that abuse and make me choiceless
Where once we were the princes of the land
Now you call us 'dusky sons of the sand'
And yet still… I hear my people calling on the wind
Carried across the waters and whispered by the trees
It sounds like a thousand voices of a thousand generations
And yet it sounds like a single voice.
It speaks in my voice
It speaks like me
And yet, I've seen you take that voice and…
Please don't, clean it up, change it up, make it fit for the populace
So, it no longer sounds like me
Like data collected and paraphrased, analysed and corrected
White-washed, and no longer sounds like me
Stop trying change me, I am perfection as I am
Listen to your spirit and then you will begin to see
Then listen to your heart as you listen to my song
See the perfection in my chaos, look for the beauty that is me
I cannot see into the future
God knows I wish I could
I can only be my best. Staunch. Brave. And strong.
About the Poet