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!