It is days like these that have me yearning for a connection, beyond that link between moments.
A connection of heart and homelands,
Where song lines web our shared histories strength.
Yearning for that Ulpulpe (spring time),
Time of change.
And after the rains when the paper flowers flood the ochre plains.
Emerging out of the hard times, cracks and crevices.
Allowing memories to spill out past introspection,
Move beyond an intermediate connection.
Where old ladies weave mulla mulla (flowers) into young women’s hair, singing the youngbal (young men) closer.
That warm wind blows,
And those seven sisters can be seen on the eastern sky.
Teaching, always learning.
That time when we sing of colour and light, love and desire.
Pay homage for irrernte arenyela.
A time of hope and renewal,
Seasonal change and a chance to reflect.
And those paper flowers,
Those yellow and pink and purple hues,
fixated against dusty reds and blues.
They inundate every apmere (place), for as far you can see,
Awenge mape, young women,
Let the golden sun warm our hearts,
Send whispers to that woomee, Perrurle, my promise one,
Meet me there,
On the other side,
Let us talk and wander,
Kiss behind that apurte (rock).
It’s days like these that have me home sick,
Have me missing my apmere Ltyente Apurte,
Missing my families,
Missing that some thing that feels like sunshine wind,
Wraps around smiling faces of loving affection.
I’ll continue to seek it out here,
In meeting humanity with smiles and an attempt of understanding.
Through learning of language and it’s intimacies,
Merging song lines with love lines,
Building kinship that extends well beyond that of blood lines.