Songlines of the Dreaming

Beneath red ochre skies and whistling gums,
Stories ripple across the ancient land,
Deep in the silence, a didgeridoo hums—
Echoes of footsteps carved in ochre sand.

Rainbow Serpent slithers across stony creeks,
Splitting the earth, gifting water and shade,
While clever Crow watches with wisdom he seeks,
His call painting dusk as sunlight does fade.

Elder’s soft voices bloom under the stars,
Sharing the lore as the fires glow bright:
Kangaroo leaps where the hunter-jade scars,
Emu dust patterns spun silver with night.

The stars themselves, ancestors aflame above,
Clustered in shapes that whisper of time,
Telling the birth of rivers, of loss and of love—
Their shimmering language, rhythm and rhyme.

Galah’s pink laughter, the sun’s waking tune,
Billabong mirrors of sky and of tree,
Wombat slow-walking beneath the full moon,
Each breath and shadow a living decree.

Children sit huddled, wide eyes shining clear,
Tracing the lines on cool painted stones,
Learning to listen, to walk without fear,
Honouring spirits, their calls and their moans.

Bark paintings, hands stencilled in sand-red ochre,
Marking the caves where ancestors sleep;
Totems and kinship—the lessons are brokered
By Dreaming made sacred, unwavering, deep.

Songlines are pathways with spirit entwined,
Guiding the people with memory’s hand;
Past and tomorrow in Dreaming we find—
Heartbeats forever, one with the land.

So under these branches and far ancient hills,
We honour the keepers, their watch ever true,
With every dawn chorus, the world gently fills—
The Dreaming alive, and the old made anew.