Author, Kristy Prasad.
<aside> This page stands as a testament to my complex relationship with national identity. While pride often comes wrapped in blind patriotism, my perspective seeks to unravel the layers of truth beneath the surface. Here, I explore the contradictions, challenges, and realities of my country through a lens that some might call cynical, but I consider honest. This isn't about mindless criticism, but rather a thoughtful examination of what it truly means to belong to a nation while acknowledging its imperfections. My observations and reflections stem from lived experiences and personal truths, offering an unvarnished view that challenges conventional patriotic narratives.
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1 advanced Australia's fucked.
A little ditty highlighting recent histories political antics .
https://suno.com/song/ca28c4d8-ba4d-4fd8-8ebf-12034751ec23?sh=yyOA5vTkU7Zg1Ofb
My country wears a mask of grace, But scratch the surface — see its face. It smiles wide with sunlit pride, While rotting deep on the inside. A land that claims to give a fair go, But watch it crush you nice and slow. It hugs you close then starves your breath, Feeds you lies and sells you death.
They speak of "mateship," flags, and toil, While bleeding dry this sacred soil. They wrap their theft in wattle gold, And preach the myths the white men sold. But I've seen truth in blackened eyes, And heard the ghosts this anthem hides. They built their towns on buried screams, And paved the roads through shattered dreams.
The Daintree burns, the Murray cries, But still they chant their coalfield lies. They drill and rip and take and sell, And call it "growth" while sowing hell. No thought for kin, no thought for sky, Just dollar signs and spin and sly. They claim we're free — they point, they boast — But freedom here is for the most.
Pauline snarls with red-necked pride, As if white guilt was justified. She spits at colour, difference, voice, And still you fools applaud her choice. Anning rose with Hitler's breath, And dared to dress it up as "depth." He dropped the line — "solution: final" — And Parliament just went... denial.
And Gillard, hailed for smashing glass, Just knifed her mate to climb up fast. They dressed it up like girl-power gold, But power's poison, bought and sold. She rose by blood and PR gloss, A queen, perhaps — but at what cost? She smiled and posed, she played her part, While stepping cold on someone's heart.
This country screams behind its grin, A masterpiece of silent sin. It sells us hope, then cuts the thread, And kicks us cold when rent's unpaid. The rich get tax breaks, jets, and perks, The poor get debt and shiftwork dirts. They gentrify the housing blocks, Then raise the price and change the locks.
We jail the kids who flee from war, Then ask what they are angry for. We cage them tight on offshore lands, While smiling with disinfected hands. We call this peace, we call it law, But everything's corrupt at core. No justice here — just cash and spin, And photos with a PR grin.
We chant "Advance," but it's a lie, The only thing that moves is sky. The only ones who thrive are those Who learned to step on friends and foes. We worship billionaires and greed, And hate the ones who dare to need. We drown in pokies, drugs, and screens, To block out all the in-betweens.
So no — I won't salute that flag. It's just a shroud, a bloodstained rag. I won't pretend this land is fair, When I see rot just everywhere. I won't stay quiet, won't behave, I'll howl these verses from my grave. Because I am Aussie — bruised and real, And I'm the nerve they're scared to feel.
So raise your voice, or raise your glass, But know the truth beneath the grass. This land is scorched with sins we hide, And history does not abide. So write it raw, and write it loud — No anthem's gonna make me proud. 'Til justice roars through every street — My country's soul is incomplete.
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© 2025 Kristy Prasad. All rights reserved. This work, including all content, poetry, and creative expressions contained herein, is protected by copyright law. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.