TIME FOR SOME POETRY.

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END TIMES. 25/09/14.

YOU, the colonial monster,
have de-humanized me
for two centuries and more.
GUILTY guilty guilty.
Your barbaric crimes
so horrific, so calculated
your demise is the only answer.
You the colonial terrorist,
beware.
We, the First Peoples
are coming for our justice.
My words will leap from
every page that I
have ever written
and attack, yes attack.
Words of centuries of
anger and forced silence,
will wrap around you
in a rage of revenge.
Words penetrating
your feeble brains,
casting you into madness.
My words, of the oppressed
strangling you until
you beg for forgiveness.
Too late, your crimes
too brutal.
Revenge time is near.
Words hurtling off pages,
engulfing you
hanging you, head dangling
until the last drop of evil
colonial blood is bled out.
Only then can there be
PEACE.
Beware the remaining
neanderthal colonialists
my words are sharp
my aim true.
Your time of judgement,
is upon you.
(C.) Burraga Gutya/Ken Canning.

THE TRAITORS 25/09/14
Lay down at night,
with your hearts
of stone.
You born of
Mother Earth
from a culture
as old as time,
have chosen the path
of the newcomers,
the boat people of 1788.
How proud you stand
amongst your
colonial friends
in their lodges
while Sisters, Brothers,
Young and Old, die
from the disease
that is government.
Despite this you walk
with the devil
mimic him in style
and language.
You have lost your
place with us,
the proud Aboriginal Peoples
of this ancient Land.
You the traitor,
have been rolled
in the white man’s flour
and baked into his
perfection
of how he wants you.
A slave to him
and an enemy
to the Mother
who bore you.
(C.) Burraga Gutya/Ken Canning.

A TIME OF TELLING. 25/09/14.

In my spirit travels,
I have been to places
no person wants to be.
I have watched beheadings
before there was tv,
before terrorism was
the new catchcry.
I walked knee deep
in blood,
the blood of the innocent,
slaughtered by
the British invader.
I saw the many horrors,
seeing until my eyes burned.
(Glaucoma).
I heard the agony,
children being murdered
by uniformed beasts
who laughed
at their own cowardice.
The Mother’s screams
pierced my brain,
their babies stolen
by the so called
civilized ones.
Babies brutalized
Mother’s traumatized
beyond comprehension.
These sounds embedded
in my mind,
to remain forever.
(Mental Illness).
No amount
of media hosing down
can ever cleanse,
the blood stains
of your bloody history.
No historical scholar,
Professor, PhD
or other mindless
creatures,
can write away
the depths of pain
we feel.
Nor can your academic
slight of hand tricks
give you an insight
into the world
forced upon us,
by the likes of you.
Yes YOU.
For unless
you give us space
to tell the truth
of invasion,
you will be forevermore
be complicit with those
who have hidden
more than two centuries
of a violent madness
that continues today.
Stand aside you pillars
of false truths,
you academics
you deceitful politicians,
we shall heal the past,
by ensuring the present,
knows the FULL truth.
YOUR LIES MUST STOP.
(C.) Burraga Gutya/Ken Canning.

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