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  3. My Violin

My Violin

By Isabel

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Published 29 September 2011



A mournful mood


creeps through my body


and I'm lost in thought.


I've flown far away.


My eyes full of tears.


Swaying to the melody


my fingers dance lightly on the strings


as my bow glides over the bridge.


Tap go my feet


as music flows through my veins.


Until it slows and stops.


And I bow.



Project

Poetry Object 2019

Author

  • Isabel

    Carlton South Public School
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Red Room Poetry acknowledges the Elders and Traditional Custodians of the lands, waters, sky and languages where we work, live and write. We are grateful to collaborate with First Nations people and aim to respectfully follow protocols as we move across Country.


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Ngurambang yali – Country speaks
~ Jeanine Leane

It’s been too long since I sat on granite in my
Country and thought

Too many years since I breathed this air—
Bunyi-ng—ganha
Felt this dirt—Ngamanhi Dhaagun
Smelt this dust—Budha—nhi Bunan

Listened for the sounds of her words that say
‘Balandha—dhuraay Bumal-ayi-nya Wumbay
abuny (yaboing)’—History does not have the
first claim. Nor the last word.
Nghindhi yarra dhalanbul ngiyanhi gin gu 
‘You can speak us now!’

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