Reflection seen through shameful eyes,
As pigmentation shows its tan.
One's colour can bring self despise
And disrepute to any man.

Unearnt guilt bestowed upon one
Because of darkness of their skin,
Respect from whites has to be won,
For colour can be seen as sin.

A desperate devastation
as lifeless from a rope it hangs
In jail cell self mutilation
as door is shut the iron bangs.

The bird calls loud as morning dawns
A black's backyard is bush and scrub
An English man waters his lawns
As servants clean an Aussie pub.

An angry voice is silenced out
By those around who older are
Now a whisper and not a shout
Because they think she's gone too far.

A silent voice is seen in print
Silent, but its message is heard
No more is heard a subtle hint
And the idea flies like a bird.

No more is it taken lightly
No more is it taken at all
Pressure now daily and nightly
Until the whites with their view fall.

At last the battle's nearly won
But compensation's far away.
We can't forget what has been done
Or people who fought yesterday.

A tear is shed for memories bad
For those who lived in pain so long,
The suffering and pain they had
Is all summed up in one bird's song.

Lloyd McLean (1992)

This poem was written as part of a school project, looking at racism in an Australian context. The Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody (RCIADIC), tabled its final report in 1991. It remains one of the most comprehensive investigations into First Nations incarceration in Australia. The inquiry examined 99 individual deaths of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in custody and produced 339 recommendations aimed at reducing overrepresentation and preventing future deaths.

This poem is part of the Horses and Things collection