Poetry

The Dispossessed

We are the descendants of the dispossessed.
They lived in disparate communities,
Enclaves in a vast land
Of drought, flooding rain, familiar light and primal life.
Adept at survival,
Attuned to the timeless cycle of life,
They hunted and gathered.
Unprepared for contact with an alien people,
Their ancient lands were acquired,
A slow, continuous process of violent dispossession.
Displaced, they were the uncounted people in colonisation.
Suffering from a clash of cultures with families torn asunder,
The survivors handed down their longing for return.

We are the descendants of the dispossessed.
They were outcasts,
Ripped from families,
Transported to a land
Of drought, flooding rain, harsh light, and rude life.
Ill prepared for settlement,
They struggled to survive in an alien world.
Dislocated, they longed for the distant climes of their homeland.
Suffering a restlessness founded on rejection and dissatisfaction,
They handed down their longing to successive generations.

We are the descendants of the dispossessed.
Their rendered records fade as does their meaning.
Their stories retold, at times in whispers,
Words changing with each generation,
Reframe the past.
Reality spun into an altered fabric.
We, their descendants, became Australians.

We are the descendants of the dispossessed.
Their written records, now redacted and revised,
Reframe the past.
Their stories retold, shaped by changing agenda.
Reality spun into an altered fabric.
We, their descendants, became Australians.

We are the dispossessed,
Migrants in search of safe landfall,
Not the first, not the last.
We come by air.
We come by sea.
We have our own strife to reconcile,
Our own demands of this lucky country,
This land of drought, flooding rain, and prosperity.
We will be Australians.

© Christine M Knight