Thieves of Land

The birds we stole from the sky, were they ours to steal?

The birds we brought over, did we have that right?

Like the invaders, we kill and camp,

on land that is not ours, and skies that are losing their song.

In wood and stone we've taken, from the spirits and camps of elders, we live carefree lives on soil that resents our presence.

In Birrarung Marr, the eels choke,

on plastic flecks, and mountains of silt.

The cormorants spread their wings to dry,

and find the oil marring their feathers.

The kookaburas laugh,

at our ignorance.

Our unthinking, unfeeling disrespect.

And we sit.

And live, and steal, and kill, and be killed,

on, by, and from the land that isn't ours.