The world is a fever
I can feel it in my hair
I had a dream the other night –
of a bonsai on my windowsill.
We were cultivated in a dorm room –
over twelve-year-old photos,
looking out into a world
we were never fully own.
Your name keeps people guessing,
your shirt is on my floor –
There’s a bonsai on my windowsill,
I can see it from the street –
it sings to me on the tide,
it calls to me.
We mimic the world which will never wait for us.
I see your grin –
waiting for me.
I live for the days of nothingness
of memories spent beneath your gaze.
We live in the world,
of pebbles and stones –
a lucky world.
our roots grow into the windowsill.
the dying trinity in your holy renown.
For the loam beneath the wet soaked amity
of royal earthy tones,
lays bare a true impression –
destined for eternal bliss.
we find shelter beneath her mist.
and for once is now
and now shall find
That when awoken,
Will surely fly.
We acknowledge the Ngunnawal and Ngambri people, who are the Traditional Custodians of the land on which Woroni, Woroni Radio and Woroni TV are created, edited, published, printed and distributed. We pay our respects to Elders past and present and emerging. We acknowledge that the name Woroni was taken from the Wadi Wadi Nation without permission, and we are striving to do better for future reconciliation.