Migrant,
castaway, itinerant,
Tramp
of fortune, traversing
the
latitudes of hope, they came
South,
to that far-flung strip of empire -
Terra
Australis, came
with fear and aspirations
Slaking
the heart‑longing of the dispossessed ‑
To reach
a destination.
I
look through the window of the corner store
And
meet the troubled eyes of Mr Han
Finding
it, they travelled on
Crossed
hazy plateaux, desert wild
Split
ironbarks, built homes with wide verandas
Sang
the songs and told the stories.
Walked
along the shoreline, searching, always seeking
Far
horizons and the deep waters
of
their passing.
I
walk beside a city park
Dark
figures sit like statues in the shadows
And
we were there, the migrant children
Adrift
on the Indian Ocean
Woken
in the night to scan a far horizon’s
tiny
line of light that was
Fremantle
beckoning
Woken
again on a sunny dawn, beholding
Giant
spans of steel above, the Bridge embracing us
As we
sailed into Circular Quay.
I
hold a faded photograph
Our
family disembarks
Still
we endlessly pursue
what
we know not, drive the continent’s circle,
hike
in national parks and scale its mountains,
Swarm
and scatter on the golden dunes
Sit
in kerbside cafes, read the news
in
foreign print, yet call this "home"
Summon
memories of far away and dream
of
places yet to be.
Still
searching billabong, river, window, ocean
for
images of my own reflection
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