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Snow on Ayers Rock

angry words frozen solid

in the white rented car

sometimes there´s even

snow on Ayers Rock

a shower of accusations

in the narrow hotel room

Uluru´s tears flow down

in small channels of old

the dreamings of men

and those of the women

are sometimes the same

but more often they´re not

every cave, every crack

in the surface of the rock

demands an explanation

and the black fellas give one

all the lines, all the scars

on my face – and yours

have their little stories too

but white fellas forget some.