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Bernard de Silva
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« on: January 18, 2012, 03:47:46 AM » |
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“The Bushman”.
From the local crowd, he appeared different,
though he seemed ill at ease, to some extent.
Somehow remote, to the usual urban throng,
an outsider, seeking some reason to belong.
Casual clothing, seemed a recent purchase,
out of character, although, not out of place,
ill matched, to footwear somewhat forlorn,
elastic sided boots, battered and well worn…
Was likely, that hat, first drew my attention,
an old Arkubra…barely worthy of retention.
An oddity, all stained with sweat and grime,
disfigured by age, and clearly past its prime.
A weathered face, returned a questing stare,
deep set eyes, long squinted, from the glare,
with a legacy forged by harshness of the sun,
reflected disenchantment at a new life begun.
Walking hampered, by all who ambled before,
his steps restricted, not a striding gait of yore.
Mobile, I guess, but with no real a place to go,
missing a kind of freedom only bushmen know.
He analysed me quizzically as I fell into stride,
I know how a bushman feels…all empty, inside.
“Welcome, to the city and the evils, of the push,
I’ve loitered for a while but I still miss the bush.”
“Been here for years, and still feel like a recluse,
for outback life, the city, is a pretty poor excuse.
There’s no crisp breeze, that comes with sunrise,
and where the sun descends, one can but surmise.”
“A different type of people, are most the city crew,
those you find who matter at all, number but a few.
Not many seem to notice if anyone falls by the way,
I’m alright, pity ‘bout you, seems to be the city way.
Noticed that a wry smile creased the bushman’s face,
narrowed eyes widened, the quizzical look to replace.
“Like looking in a mirror, I’d guess you feel the same,”
a firm handshake he then offered, along with his name.
Now, no glam and glitter tavern can match a bush hotel,
but blokes value an ale, when there’s many a tale to tell.
The outback we traversed as distant tracks we travelled,
the past, present and future in life’s fabric we unravelled.
It benefits any displaced bloke to find some kindred soul,
to yarn, about a common creed and the hard life, to extol.
For there exists an affinity, which bush bred blokes retain,
the love of expanse and freedom that never seems to wane.
“It takes one, to know one,” is a common idiom I confess.
but bushmen, project an aura, which a city cannot suppress.
Bushmen, remain bushman, no matter wherever they reside,
the memories, the mystic of the outback, hidden deep inside…
ã. Copyright : Bernard de Silva. Tuesday, 17 January 2012.
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