Short Aboriginal Poems

Weaving through
the gum trees
the ghosts
of aboriginal stockmen
cut through
the dust
and years....

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Orphaned Christmas conifers heap'd
Side by side Assiniboine bank
Native green and vertical felled
Blackened aboriginal limbs
White Man gasoline chainsaw teeth....

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Embracing the myth,
I hide deep within

More Devil than Savior,
aboriginal sin

Excuses my sacraments,
grace bartered for lies

Judgment internal
—redemption denied

(Dreamsleep: February, 2020)...

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The Enquiry
Is over

They did not find
the missing and murdered
whatever 
they were looking for
But every woman knows

Why

There are so many
missing and murdered
Aboriginal women
As every woman knows

Why

There will never be
an Enquiry
into the men
who murder women




June 5th, 2019...

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The Enquiry
Is over

They did not find
the missing and murdered
whatever 
they were looking for
But every woman knows

Why

There are so many
missing and murdered
Aboriginal women
As every woman knows

Why

There will never be
an Enquiry
into the men
who murder women




June 5th, 2019...

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Between the trees
a waterfall
                  of
                     light,
a stillness
bright with bubbling springs
and birdsong.
Here you stumbled
                                 on
                                    that
strange intensity
by which
the tongue-tied earth
is made articulate.


First published in Landfall, New Zealand...

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Refusing to obey
he took command
The power not given
but by his hand
Looking no further
he forged within
The years and the seasons
aboriginal sin

Broken commandments
rust on the gate
Eyes burning inward
past-futures abate
Refusing the mandate
of time’s desperate plan
He slew first the minutes
—as the hours remand

( Dreamsleep: February, 2023)...

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My didgeridoo singing,
Produces healthy healing;
Vibrations of nature,
Winning my favor.

Energizes my cells,
As crescendo swells.
Vibrations of bliss,
Mother Nature’s kiss.

Great notes are achieved by,
Instruments like these.
Didgeridoo talks of,
Aboriginal walks.

Some insects sent here are,
God’s indentured servants.
...

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Traditional dance from the dreamtime,
Doing "Bird Dance" at sleep time.
Here I am watching-the bird in it's nest-
To pass down the story of the dancers zest.

A small drawing depicting a story;
Of the bird and of its glory,
Expressed by a traditional dance;
Striking a pose, bird-stance.




With Much Respect To All Traditional and Contemporary Aboriginal Dancers....

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I am waiting
For the colonists’ offspring
To see.

See what’s already there.
Been there decades,
hundreds and thousands of years.

Brewarrina.  Birrngi-Bream.
Condah.  Tuupuurn-Galaxis.
Bolac.  Smoked eels.

Curly Mitchell Grass.
Nodding Greenhoods.
Yam Daisy-Murnong.

Budj Bim.
World Heritage.
Right here!

Dark Emu.
Read it.
Grasp the future.

Don’t wait.
Act.
Thrive....

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Together we go hand in hand
You take us off our land
You are damaging our future generation
Together we stand as one nation
Listen to our pleads
You are taking away our needs
We love to hunt on land 
Bare feet on the hot sand
We hunt in the sea
So wild and free
We are simple and original
We are the Australian Aboriginal
We love our culture and are very traditional
This is not fair
Do you really care?...

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Why deceptive retrieve
in a wheelchair
for the fallen ?

Was it not a sheer
wrong message
of a space anxiety ?

The aboriginal name
was dead in a traffic. What
a choice to breathe its

last in a city of buried
monuments ? Vision of inner
city affiliates,

taking questions for
the first time. You
become only a body after the death.

A white rose waits
for a blue sea. The black moon
hovers around the old man.




SATISH VERMA...

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In the orbit, fear was invisible;
was not seeking anything, just wanted
to become a stone;

break my body into seven rocks,
each one becoming a rhyme
never to die;

said, I am, now, is, not mildewed
past, not grizzly future.
Every moment myself.

Tree, river, cloud and mount 
become aboriginal alphabets.
Sun walks alone.

Behind the death, another miracle
seals the lips of a dumb;
Only eyes will speak now.

SATISH VERMA...

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Why deceptive retrieve
in a wheelchair
for the fallen ?

Was it not a sheer
wrong message
of a space anxiety ?

The aboriginal name
was dead in a traffic. What
a choice to breathe its

last in a city of buried
monuments ? Vision of inner
city affiliates,

taking questions for
the first time. You
become only a body after the death.

A white rose waits
for a blue sea. The black moon
hovers around the old man.




SATISH VERMA...

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He had pulled in many springs
but failed to find a heaven.
Asked not to look away. In

absences he tried to enter
the wounds again. An aboriginal
pain flies over my shoulder.

A spiritual failure of mankind ?
Counting unctuously the birds nesting
on an invisible tree.

This narration has no vocabulary.
Only oily sounds of original
lunacy. You want to cover

an empty canvas. A self-portrait
was abandoned after
the cloudburst of slogans.


Satish Verma...

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