Union

A picnic blanket on a summer Sunday
quiet jacaranda's lining streets of the capital
I was barely two,
catching small ladybirds with my grandmother
the world was lucky, magical
free from protest,
I believed no child would every need a protest.


that faraway long forgotten picnic
on the lawns of a once nostalgic building
came back today, under a smoking sweating sky
sodden, trodden jacaranda blossoms
young men and women, thousands
 determined, unwavering
I watch them, asking for freedom
the freedom to learn, the freedom to know
they are no picnic blankets now
just a conscious living breathing question
What are you doing inside those walls?
they are brave in the heated helicopter fuelled afternoon.

one day there will be doctors, learned minds
beautiful minds from this crowd
who worked and stood together for  education
one day there may be understanding in the glance of hindsight
now there is just the lawn of my long ago picnic
tear gassed, strewn with broken dreams and stones.

Father

You built a fortress for my protection

an emotional fort, holding my delicate heart

you made it stronger than steel
free from tragedy
free from humanity

you made large windows,

a view to the horizon

I stayed here, stayed safe

I looked out to the evening stars

with no fear.