Their sharpened whispers crackled in the room
like a snapping storm, never ceasing.
Crawling up my legs, scaling down my arms,
a rusted, decrepit camera imprisons the solitude.
“Born a bomber, born a killer” A terrorist “Go back you freak!”

Am I a stereotype to you? My language?
Nestled soundlessly in the corner,
Ragged and illuminating in the dark
slowly thinning,
blurred out like the midnight ink
smeared across the salt ridden sheets,
crinkled and stained.
Who am I?
The repulsed dirt skin, singed brown hair; filthy, disgusting
built far from Australia
built far from the template of perfection.
Carting around my culture, my faith, my religion,
“strange” the murmurs echo around me.

You say I ruin Australia, I’m the intruder. And yet you aren’t?
You say I ruin Australia, but do you even know me?
We are more than just refugees scorched by the glaring heat, we are Australians.
An isolated island cemented away from the world, a wall divides us.
Australia’s left overs we are.
Will I ever belong here?

She is a whale swimming away from her habitat, finding a new rest place
The crumpled paper scrunched in her hand, treasured more than family
The birth certificate spoke to her, pulled her in further
She belonged here, in this place
Her mysterious voice didn’t sound the same
Our music playing in the background wasn’t familiar to her ears
Her body did not move to the beat anymore
The usual smell of naan didn’t bring her to me
The brown pastry filled with meat replaced the welcoming yellow curry
The exciting pops in her mouth no longer excited her
She was the braised chicken in her bowl, flapping away
Her eyes darker than dirt no longer shone brightly
She was like the man with the red cape, flying away quicker everyday
Some days near and some days far
Where are you?