Poetry: To wait for news from home

There was something ‘bout that sandstone seat,

Once carved by convict hands -

That spoke of memories and love,

Exiled in foreign lands

For there she was, who used to stroll

These garden rocks for long,

And hum and sing with melancholy,

Perhaps a Gaelic song

 

And though they say, she lingered here

For she loved its pretty views –

There was something deeper, more than just

The gorgeous harbour hues

 

For she had left her home afar,

And crossed the seven seas,

Knowing future dreams would fail

To match her memories

 

And when you leave your heart behind,

The world is emptiness

There’s liberty in a new-found land,

Yet the taste is so much less!

 

So, she would wait for hours all day,

To be the first to see,

The ships that came with news from home

To the austral colony

 

The tourists yell, the reverie breaks,

Yet I stare into the chair,

And deep within my soul perhaps

More timeless words I hear:

 

‘You’ll understand at last, won’t you?

For you too in exile roam,

What it means – the aching pain

To wait for news from home…’

Walking around the Royal Botanical Gardens in Sydney, you are sure to stumble upon Mrs. Macquarie’s Chair, a bench carved by convicts on a sandstone rock in 1810 for the then governor’s wife – Lady Macquarie. 

Today it is perhaps one of the most instagramm-able location with the indigo waters of the Sydney harbour framing the Harbour bridge and the Opera House in one of the world’s most beautiful cities. But rewind the clock by 200 years – and this promontory would be a small part of the wild bushlands tamed by the first settlers who braved into this new world to create a new home, so far away from home. Among them was Lady Macquarie, who used to love this spot that offered panoramic views of the Sydney Harbour. But more importantly, she awaited here for hours, days, and even months to catch first sight of the ships that had sailed from the British isles, the only link to her beloved home. 

In that age without instant communication, imagine then the mental resolve of those who had the courage to leave their home – one may brand it as adventure, bohemia, or exploration, yet there is detachment, and with that comes inevitably, the saudade of separation, the murmurs of melancholy and the pains of pensiveness. Lady Macquarie was no different. She did return to her native lands though, and over time, the world she helped establish grew and enlarged. Yet, even after two centuries, there are remnants for all those who can search – such as the chair in the garden – that remind us we are but mortals, that it is only natural to submit to the wistfulness called ‘home’.

12^th June, 2020