Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, oi, oi, oi!
In my dream, words paraded in my head,

I saw Omar, the Poet, perform for a crowd

last night and through the shadows,

his eyes levelled with mine,

he mirrored the outsider within — brown skin,

pulling heart string, turning public scorn

on its head with comedic satirical lines.
I watched the Poet walkabout

on his tiny space stage, heard drum beats

background a microphone of words.

Omar sang a love song, talked to the dead,

danced to his rhythm and rhyme

— teasing and beating and spotlighting

re-incarnated, regressive colonial minds.

Aussie Aussie, Aussie, oi, oi, oi!