Bones lay buried forty fathoms deep,
Oh if only the turquoise ocean can speak
The wizard wind carries lonesome melodies
echoing memories of the past hundred years
of schooners, luggers, pearl shells,
and waves of settlers called Manilamen
washed ashore in the Torres Strait and Broome,
their descendants and offsprings
of Australian Aboriginal and Torres Strait islanders
with new arrivals on their trail
sing songs that graft new tunes into old,
the ancient songlines with tracks on rocks and soils
of mixed identities fused.
The red sandy soil stirs up old memories
that honour forebears who dived
in the depths of the continent’s soul
with black women who took the lead,
embracing mixed traditions,
their gaze never quite turned away
from their roots, the distant islands of their dreamtime
from where their ships had sailed away.