To sit on white stone in the Simpson Desert and watch dark clouds forming,
Washes doubt and fear away, for this is the place where love waits for its time,
The heat and the pain have no place at night as they do in the morning.
The parrots can finally fly and desert creatures can perform their mime.
And as the Australian night sits down and begins its screaming,
The soft black men come together and light a fire in grief,
They speak of the kangaroo and the long walk from their dreaming,
They turn the logs for love is a burning whose warmth lies beneath.
Misery falls from an old man's eyes but his son grins with delight,
For he can hear the singing and see in the distance the faces being made,
His black brothers paint their faces and dress in feathers of white ,
For there is a moment when the heart forgets to be afraid.
With heads held high they walk back to their camps and wait for the dawn,
Knowing how to dance at night they fear not the coming of the white sky in the morn.
-
Author:
David Wakeling (
Offline) - Published: March 21st, 2023 02:06
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 16
Offline)
Comments5
Me next poem is: Same rain, different sky! lol.
Good one
Hope it is as good as that for our First Nations now...they've been shat upon for too long.
Indeed
Without names the reader is not engaged.No-one knows who is talking to whom and why.Unfinished
Thank for reading.
You're welcome : )
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