He
was heartsick for his country and homesick for his land
inside
he felt he walked on foreign soil.
Still
vivid were the memories though many years had passed
and
all of them were spent at honest toil.
His
face was dark and weathered underneath the shady brim
of
his worn stained hat. His eyes rheumy
and red.
One
heard the sadness deep within his soul when he did speak.
I
never will forget the words he said.
“Life is about balance and it’s hard to get it right
to
stay focused and on an even keel.
Let
go of hurts and insults and move on and live your life
refuse
to anger, despite pain you feel.
Some
folks do things because they can – others do them for good.
At
times perhaps their thought process is flawed.
A stolen generation child I am and I tell you
it hurts to see that problem still ignored.
As
a child I knew great sorrow and knew I did not belong
where
I was, far from my family and home.
A
child taken from mother, cruelly torn
out of her arms.
Many kids were stolen - I was not alone.
Mothers
tried making light skin babies look darker somehow
by
rubbing charcoal into skins too light.
It
took quite some convincing the authorities to fool
but
some were saved by this tactic all right.
And
some folks they don’t understand where we are coming from
when
we say we want justice for our plight.
They
say ‘you’ve
had a good life Mate’ and can’t see
nothing wrong,
they
don’t get it at all - that's because they're white.
It’s
a feeling deep inside and there are no words to explain
about
lost culture – some don’t know their song;
or
ancestors or totems or even their native home
they’re
outcasts who don’t know now where they belong.
They’ve
no knowledge of family for they were torn apart;
as
wars tear families apart today,
no
matter that we’re all old now – that fear remains within
we’ve
no family to see us on our way.
I’m
a stranger in my country, and still I search and pray
for
family – I'm sure you understand;
I'm
old with numbered days, and at night the dreamtime calls me
I
don’t want to die a stranger in my land.”
Maureen Clifford ©
07/11
The Scribbly Bark Poet
