Waiting

“For those who’ve come across the seas,
We’ve boundless plains to share.”
These words hung in their minds,
gave them hope,
gave them something to hold on to,
apart from the ice-cold hand rails,
of the condemned fishing boat.

She sat shivering on the wooden deck,
waiting for water,
waiting for food,
waiting for a life,
waiting for a home.
She was always waiting.

“Australian’s all let us rejoice,
For we are young and free.”
Freedom, is what they strived for,
you could see it in their desperate eyes,
you could hear it in deafening silence,
you could smell it in the pungent air,
yet they were captured;
caged in a floating metal prison.

She sat on the unyielding metal floor,
trapped in her windowless cell.
Waiting for shelter,
waiting for protection,
waiting for warmth,
waiting for a life.
She was always waiting.

They also wanted to “make this
Commonwealth of ours renowned
of all the lands,” except
this country that was built from
the sweat and grime of the English sewers,
were now refusing innocent people,
who were risking everything,
fleeing from their country,
looking for a better life.
Why won’t we let them in?

She sat scared at the metal table.
Waiting for her fate to be decided,
waiting for questions,
waiting for entry,
waiting for disappointment.
She was always waiting.

They watched helplessly as,
the “land which abound in nature's gifts
of beauty, rich and rare,”
slipped through their fingers
like pure white sand from
the beaches they’d never
walk along,
as they waited for their fate
to be decided.
They were always waiting.

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