Werte Mparntwe,
You know me and I know you.
My heart was born here,
in the warmth of your red earth,
the dust sticks to my soul.
I came as a little girl,
lost in this big world,
but you,
Mparntwe,
you grounded me.
No matter how far I wander,
I always return to your embrace—
the weight of your history under my feet,
the quiet hum of the land beneath me,
whispering stories older than time.
I watch the world try to understand you,
but they can’t.
The media speaks as though they know your heart,
but they don’t.
They haven’t broken down on the side of the road
and been fixed up by a bush mechanic,
or healed by a Ngangkaris hands,
or filled with love by a nanna’s freshly baked damper,
Or smelled the burn of a Marlu wipu on the fire as their mouth watered and they sat talking stories,
turning,
scraping off the fur.
They haven’t sat in the dust with the children,
whose smiles defy the odds stacked against them.
They don’t see the joy in their eyes,
the strength in their laughter,
the fight in their hearts.
They talk about you,
Mparntwe,
but they don’t listen.
Like the youth of this land,
misunderstood,
unheard,
their voices drowned in the noise of the world
that doesn’t stop long enough to feel their truth.
But they are like the land—resilient,
so hold them like you held me,
Guide them like you guided me.
The earth may be cracked,
but it always heals.
It knows that the last laugh belongs to the land,
and the last word belongs to the youth.
In time, the world will listen.
Just as you have always held me close,
your stories will be heard,
your song will echo in hearts,
and your people will rise,
as sure as the sun that rises over the ranges,
and the stars that light your skies.
I see you, Mparntwe.
I hear you.
And I love you.
Forever and always,
even when they don’t.
With love,
Kirra
Kirra - Alice Springs local