Parramatta

From the dreaming to waking up*, 

in a few thousand years of lull, 

with the annual seasons,

comings and goings of life, 

the waters, flowing fast and slow

the stars, the sun, burning the grass, 

the valley, the wallabies, the roos, 

and the wattle, turning gold, 

I stood still in motion

just where the three waters met, as if waiting, 

waiting, 

waiting for something that I knew,

like a dreamtime story, to come true

the horses treading the soft dirt into hard paths, 

for the vehicles to carry the new means of living, 

turning life up side down for those 

whose means were to be lost, 

and they came, the animals, the people never seen before

carving their own place where others had lived,

slowly and slowly dying,

the creed and the customs, or changing colours,

I stood still in motion.

The farms changed shapes, new abodes came about

sprawling on the banks of my river, 

taken by those who hadn’t come free, 

from those who had roamed free 

for all those years of dreamtime

the trades, the farms, the homestead, 

the owners of the land and waters changed

roses where golden yellow flowers

bloomed, changing the name, the shape of the hill, roads

streets paved, water captured, diverted

domesticated animals, and

 goods in stores, and shops, 

theatres, churches, town hall, 

schools, pool, parks

laughter, life, new beginnings, 

I stood still in motion, 

in reflection,

troubled, in turmoil, turbulence, 

people, nations, the sons of soil, 

the shadows

the nameless soldiers, dying in far away lands,

for how long did the war last

a few blinks for some,

and years for those who lost

Someone 

or a life time, 

who didn’t make it

and the return of glory, the rustic gold

the flags changing

the clock ticking along

the colours, the seasons,

and the reasons for coming, and going

changing, end of an era, behold

the new century, a new beginning,

I stood still in motion, 

with history becoming 

what had been new 

and the new turning to old, 

the memories, becoming memorabilia

sand stone buildings built, then

being razed down now, 

like those meadows

heritage, once again lost, 

the footprints of ages

being wiped

to mark new,  

changing faces, making way to the next

and the next goal, 

stadiums, buildings scraping the sky, 

the station, the blocks of flats

the place for a temple, a mosque, and 

 coloured by multi colours, the celebrations of youth, of different opportunities, found and lost chances

all these changes, 

just watch I,

standing still, in motion, 

the world, and the people, kept moving

as pictures on a screen

moving, appearing, disappearing, 

like shadows in the water, and reflections 

in shadows, when the sun is setting, in my river,

turning it all in gold!