In the velvet shroud
of southern night,
Milky Way rivers twist,
gleam like forgotten songs,
stars igniting in quiet bursts.
The Emu stirs,
vast and deep,
from ancient sleep,
Gugurmin rising,
a shadow’s slow call.
Her head dips low
into Coalsack’s gloom,
neck curving like a serpent’s flow,
graceful, unhurried.
Body woven
from dust’s dark thread,
legs stretching long
toward Scorpius’ distant sting,
eternal in their reach.
As summer sighs
across whispering land,
she climbs the horizon
at midnight’s hush,
cycles unfolding in cosmic rush.
For Wiradjuri,
Dinawan broods serene,
guarding eggs
in the heavenly nest,
a sacred quest unfolding.
Kamilaroi tales whisper
of chase and peace,
lovers dancing in unseen flight,
guardians holding the night.
In Ku-ring-gai stones,
her form etched deep,
Daramulan’s bride
in timeless pose,
where wisdom quietly grows.
A calendar carved
in earth and sky,
timing the hunts
for eggs so true,
balance ever renewing.
Dreamtime spirits soar,
watch over the land,
ancestral beings shaping
the world in their hands,
tales unfurling like smoke.
From blind man’s grief
to vengeful spear,
the legend clears,
flinging emu
to its starry throne,
lessons in flesh and bone.
On renewal’s eve,
the New Year nears,
First Nations’ dawn
in emu’s quiet rise,
through shared, endless skies.
No conqueror’s flag,
but void’s pure art,
sustainability drawn
from every heart,
cultures harmonising in the dark.
With wings of shadow,
she soars and sings,
carrying stories
from time untold,
bold and golden in their hold.
In her ascent,
our spirits sway,
lighting the way
to a lyrical birth,
for the First New Day,
eternal, come what may.
by Bakchos
