Colours of the Past

Cook gazes over Terra Nulius,

As the shadow,

Of an invisible black man creeps slowly by.

The last gunshot,

Echoes,

The smell of gunpowder,

Lingers,

And Tasmania is white.

The plague of white mice sweeps,

The land,

Burning and pillaging,

Spreading destruction and disease.

26th January,

Australia Day, or,

Invasion Day…

One is white,

One is black.

The blackened trees,

Creaking in the wind,

Still alive,

Like the ‘dying race’

That just refused to

Die.

Lost land, lost children, lost culture, or,

Stolen land,

Stolen children,

Stolen culture.

The politicians,

They talk about ‘reconciliation’, yet,

There is one small word,

That’s just too hard to say…

Sorry.

And now,

The powerful white swans,

Glide,

Over the calm water,

Upon which,

The beautiful black swans,

Once swam.