Half buried into the sand dunes

near my beach house

green, corked wine bottle

I had to smash it

to get the letter out.

Who was the mysterious

message-bottler?

the odd fantasy

of a tall, dark and handsome

billionaire,

bored on his luxury cruiser,

crossed my mind.

' Please help us

and save our lives,'

its author,

a nine-year-old girl,

Brindah was her name.

Sri Lankan asylum seeker

thwarted from reaching Australia's shore,

her dreamland, her only aim.

Leaning over the rail

of a small rickety cargo boat

among three hundred desperate people

who called a hunger strike.

Brindah put the message

in a bottle

and threw it overboard.

I know,

you would prefer

a romantic billionaire,

but the Ethnic Tamil child,

lost and scared

is the only one I have found.

I found a treasure,

a message in a bottle,

now I have to find

that child.

Asked about Brindah's plea,

Australian Immigration Minister

said,

she was just one millions of refugees

seeking a better life,

she is now in Merak,

Indonesian detention centre,

for another ten or twenty

years

of her life.

' Please, think of us, please,'

I finish reading her message in a bottle:

'we have lived in a forest for one month,

please sir, take us to your country,

there must be somewhere a place for us...'

Brindah will get old and wrinkly,

locked behind the Indonesian wall,

dreaming about our Australian shore.

I am sorry, my dear Brindah,

I am just a writer,

I keep your bottle and write a poem...

about YOU

about YOUR PEOPLE

what would happen

if you managed

to reach our shore.

BOAT PEOPLE

Boat people are coming

struggling to reach a shore

of ' Promised land'

like others

before them

for a hundred years

following the Dream Times people

and British settlement.

Another day is starting

with Kookaburra laughing

the newcomers are sitting

in the shadow of Eucalyptus tree

to study English grammar

and how to feel free

under the barbed fence

Another yea is ending

on the summer midnight time

listening Aussie Dinkum

they look at Southern sky

sewing their lips together

they think about their roots

and the children for which

they sacrifice...

And their children

are running

happily on the sand

leaving their footprints

hopefully

forever on red land.

I just wish Brindah's footprints would be one of them.

IF YOU HAVE BEEN MOVED BY THIS TRUE STORY; PLEASE ANSWER MY QUESTION

ABOUT THIS ISSUE ON MY BLOG: http://bittersweetbeata.blogspot.com

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