He stole the moon

He stole the moon 22-02=09
Kooraar, kaadjali - far, far away, long ago, such a long time ago!
Yey baal kaadjali bardlanginy, nidja minang Noongar... he was travelling far from his lands.
Yey baal djinaanginy, waam mai kaadidjiny, baalap meeak waangalanginy, they were talking about the moon, these fellas.
Yep, these Noongar of long ago were talking about the moon, sacred business.
And this stranger heard them, talking, in whispers.
He got the part about the moon in the finger nail, baal mai borl baranginy, meeak-mai borl baranginy, borl-worl-koorliny, he crept with this story dtaa-waam donniny, put it upon the lips of another.
This is the way stories are spread, I guess.
Baal meeak baal borl-wort baranginy, upon the lips of another he put him there, a story that never belonged to him, but he took him, that moon.
Yey baal waaliny kaarangabiny - you could hear him crying, calling out from the text on that page: "What am I doing here, I don't belong here, why has he put me in the mouth of another?"
And then that moon whispered from that page: "That Noongar done a lot of things wrong, sure he even stole a song..." "...put that song, like me, upon the lips of another, planted the tree of tradition or, rather, dug it, lifted it from it's native soil and stole from another from what was not his toil..."
The moon kept going...on that page, telling me things, told me to follow that Noongar's textual tracks - like old Chuditch whose wife had an affair with Mr Possum.
Old Wedj recieved gifts of ochre and old Chuditj saw these gifts when he returned to his camp.
Seeing these gifts on the ground, little bits here and there, the textual tracks were clear as day, and he knew with no ounce of a doubt that his wife had a lover. He went away one day and hid himself and he caught them, his wife and her lover... So now I am watching... the desk lamp has replaced the moon lamp.
I follow the moon's advice and I track them.
Like old Noongar did with cleared ground, kept track of strangers to their camp, men of ill intent... looked for their tracks, now I watch for them upon the page...
I know the tracks of my teacher and his family, and I know too the tracks of strangers, carrying off what is not theirs to take...