KASAMA Vol. 11 No. 2 / April-May-June 1997 / Solidarity Philippines Australia Network


where I stand, blood stains

the sunburnt soil,

mute witness to the cry

of the oppressed, repressed,


close your eyes, stand still

and tune in

to the requiem of the wind

echoing, continuing

unresolved conflict

and unpaid debt.

'empathy key' you shoved

in my hands---

is that what I need to perceive

why the phantoms

of a 'vanquished' race make

their apparitions in conferences,

stage walkouts to pierce

our multicultural conscience

with their omnipresence?

pray, let us not slay them once more

with our sword of words

to nullify the anger

singeing their souls.

true, history we cannot reconstruct

but must we repeatedly rape

their right for a name

with our 'multicultural' fortress

to blot out the remnants of our sins?

'mirror their needs' indeed

but through the looking glass

of repressed history.

close your eyes, stand still

and tune in

to the requiem of the wind,

the woes of a people fearing

a fresh invasion

on an alternative front.

lost to the land

a mute point:

coarse words spat out,

go home, slanty eyed!

i see myriads of flags fly

upon the sky,

their pieces ripped apart

by stormy winds,

their colours merging, stating

that difference is shrinking.

tell this to the new tribes

beating their drums in monotone

and screaming,

to the mainstream return!

as Gaia trembled in shock,

the land retrieved them all,

old and new,

black, brown, yellow and white,

and Howard's 'mainstream' too!

vomit spewed out from the psyche

of the dead heart,

resurrecting repressed tales---

children from mothers snatched,

today's disoriented dreams.

spilt blood mysteriously rose

from ancient campfires' smoke,

ghosts hovered over poisoned waterholes,

into ugly craters sacred sites transformed,

mining acquisitive, greedy hearts,

crows warning of an unabating

curse upon white seafarers'

children of old who remain

lost to the land.

DEBORAH WALL is a member of SPAN and a regular contributor to KASAMA.