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Cliffs of the Bunda.
I wrote the poem after crossing the Nullarbor last year and have just completed this work for an exhibition. “Have you held upon the Nullarbor,
a handful of bright red sand
The pulsating life and blood,
Of this ancient Australian land.
Have you licked, while on the Nullarbor,
the edge of a salt dried plain,
As it patiently pants in the sun,
For the rains to come again.
Have you crept upon the Nullarbor,
to the edge of the Bunda cliffs,
looked far below and mused about,
the continental drifts.
Have you smelt upon the Nullarbor,
the tempting hint of rain,
The first fat drops are falling,
splattering the ‘no tree plain.’
Have you wandered upon the Nullarbor,
to the harvest that Murphy sold,
Hilbata granite stands sentinel,
At least 15 million eons old.
Have you dreamt upon the Nullarbor,
of swirling blacks and browns,
The whispers of the old ones,
Echo thru the ghostly towns.
Have you wept upon the Nullarbor
for the loss of ancient lore,
Pila nguru people guardian,
Their voice is heard no more.
Have you stared above the Nullarbor,
in the darkness of the night,
Been blinded by a billion stars,
A humbling and lonely sight.
Have you whispered on the Nullarbor,
goodbye, I am no more,
and heard the answer in the wind,
come back, come back,
Come back to the Nullarbor.”