SEARCHING

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