The Cry from Australia

I am the voice Of the first breath upon this land. I am Aboriginal — And I have wept since 1788. When they came, With boots that crushed our soil, And eyes that did not see us As human. They called us beasts Because we danced with the wind, Because our skin kissed the sun, Because we spoke to the rivers And the stars knew our names. They carved our land With fences and flags. They silenced our songs, Tore apart our families, And buried our gods Beneath their churches. But I still hear the voice Of my grandmother And my grandfather — Calling from the red earth: “Where is our land? Where is our freedom?” We did no wrong. We only lived. We only loved the land. And for this, They tried to erase us. But we are not gone. The Rainbow Serpent stirs. The trees remember. The rivers weep beside us. And the stars still carry our names. They may think we are few — But many walk with us unseen. Ancestors. Spirits. Children yet to be born. All marching for justice. Their greed shall return to them Like wind circling back. What they took Shall be taken. What they broke Shall haunt them In the cries of the earth And the ashes of time. One day, A fire will rise in the heart of this land. And with it — Freedom. We are not dust. We are the root. And even in sorrow, We grow.