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OUR WEAVE

Uncounted Years of Pain and Pain

6/20/2019

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Uncounted years of pain and pain…
Again and again through a maze
As the enemy’s victory remains yet again
Whilst heroes they count on, in silence they remain.
​
Uncounted years of pain and pain…
Through dawns which beckon their constant slain
Pleading cries to no avail
A prayer to be free remains in vain.
​Uncounted years of pain and pain…

Like an endless falling of acid rain
As their skin are tarnished by foreign reign
In their very own soil, they will never gain.

​Uncounted years of pain and pain…

Like an endless falling of acid rain
As their skin are tarnished by foreign reign
In their very own soil, they will never gain.

 Uncounted years of pain and pain…
Of a father whose son was shot in vain
A mother whose daughter was raped to death;
A child whose future hangs loosely over a grave

Uncounted years of pain and pain…

Like an endless falling of acid rain
As their skin are tarnished by foreign reign
In their very own soil, they will never gain.

 Uncounted years of pain and pain…
Of a father whose son was shot in vain
A mother whose daughter was raped to death;
A child whose future hangs loosely over a grave

​Uncounted years of pain and pain…

As we sleep in comfort, they remain awake
We ‘stroll’ down a road, they walk in haste
Our daily jolly, they never taste

Uncounted years of pain and pain…

Constant torture and ongoing rape
Yet prolonged quest for “facts” remain;
Blood shed struggles, yet we wait.

Uncounted years of pain and pain...
As things have been, they remain

Tired wails echo in vain,
As the killers remain free, where is our shame?
 
Uncounted years of pain and pain…
When we bow to pray, whose alliance do we claim?
If humans we are then guilt we should gain;
Why sell humanity for money and fame?

​
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by Georgina Oroi
“For I will continue to fight and stand up for my Pacific, knowing that I am fighting for a cause that one day the raising of the Morning Star will no longer be a crime”.


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I walk BRAVO

4/8/2019

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Bravo is a cell injected in my body about to explode
Bravo is a substance reaction that made my Bubu blind
Bravo is a deliberate performance in the sky
A calculated invisible to camouflage the visible
Burn tears burn dry
​
Bravo is my siblings born a defect machine
Bravo is a gene I pass
A replicate of a poisonous culture
But you know….
My Island a Castle before Bravo.
​My skin is sun kissed

But my body is Bravo
Bravo! That’s what the outsider say for ‘WELL DONE”
The Italians think it means “BRAVE”
But you know what I think?
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Luisa Tuilau, the salt in the water.
​“I am betting on love. Love is our strength. Love formed the weave and called it to being. It is love for who we are and for which we are that will set us all free. Love is the advocate that transcends bilateralism. Love is the decision maker in us, with us and through us. It is about love. It is about ALL of us.”

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My skin my raincoat

3/20/2019

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My skin my raincoat
Possible to feel welcome in my own home, I call my skin my raincoat.
Stars that seemed only alive when you’re about to leave falsely in your graveled seat sinking boat.
I saw my mother get dragged by the limb and beaten by that thing they call protection, by the man who carelessly wiped not a flinch of his grin as he pulled her, I could not shed a tear rather cry within my blood cells that boiled in the entrails of my “what is it called?”

That pulsating throbbing thing on the left side of my chest so bare and battered that has been snatched along with my “what do you call it?” that veracious act without chains so invisible that hurt without restraint where I can stand alongside what I want to say.
​

My brother of 200km and my father without a foresight left in him, who refuses to believe me anymore.
I feel I have feet that refuse to work anymore, with bones that refuse to function, a tongue that’s stuck and cannot move, hands that don’t feel a cent of attention.

Help me! my brother, I’m only drowning in this flood of repressed affection and hand-picked restraints of whips that hurt no more.
​My truth you only see in black and white, detaining me of my culture, my land and my children.

I’ve been sour sipping crude cups of neglect filled with nonentity but faceless words and stray. I’m shackled in my own despondency, but I won’t fall, I will live on, for I call my skin my raincoat.
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A dedicated piece to our West Papua brothers and sisters. I stand as your sister 200km near. – Krystal Elizabeth Selwood ​
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Inap Yu Harim Mi!

3/12/2019

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Inap yu harim mi?
Olsem laion i singaut nogut tru long kindom
Mi weit tasol long go fri
Ol tambaran man win gen
Mi stap insait long pasin nogut blong ol
Gan em kilim na bagarapim mipela
Liklik man wantain liklik tingting
Inap yu lukim mi?
Mi kalabus long soul blong me yet
Lewa blong mi buruk stret
Ol masol blong mi kisim bagarap
Bloot i kapsait long lewa na neck in drai tumas
Taim bloot is ron long dispela rot blong seim pasin
Man wantain ol pikinini tu
Ol i dai long dispela nait
Olsem na bai mi larem dispela pasin nogut go yet?

Mi no wanpela diwai nogat frut long en
Mi save mi igat planti
Mi wanpela blong Wes Papua stret
Body blong mi stap long kalabus
Tasol spirit blong mi em fri

Oseania kirap! Kirap long krai blong mi
Mi wanpela blong yupela na yu wanpela blong mipela
Mipela skelim wan solwara, spirit na laikim mama graun blong yumi
Tasol yu fri na mi nogat
Mi salem han blong mi kam long yu

Yu bai mekim wanem?


​Luisa Tuilau, the salt in the water.
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Luisa Tuilau
“I am betting on love. Love is our strength. Love formed the weave and called it to being. It is love for who we are and for which we are that will set us all free. Love is the advocate that transcends bilateralism. Love is the decision maker in us, with us and through us. It is about love. It is about ALL of us.”
“I am betting on love. Love is our strength. Love formed the weave and called it to being. It is love for who we are and for which we are that will set us all free. Love is the advocate that transcends bilateralism. Love is the decision maker in us, with us and through us. It is about love. It is about ALL of us.”
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Dear Marshall

3/5/2019

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Dear Marshall,
Now that you’re old enough, this. Is your story.
I was the child that got raped by the hands that seeped past my body and vigorously down my spine, I cried seamlessly oceans that filled the biggest basin of 30, tears that swallowed 60 million 90 degree angles that faced each other with the same four grey walls.
Your father followed without “how art thous” and rather slipped out slurs of hot blooded desires of empowering fingertips, conquering my every limb and scrapping my tongue numb, and with the many sands of time, you our child was born “Jolet Jen Anij” or as your father later named you John Marshall of the 180 in the era of 1788.
They named me “peaceful” in a tongue at the time, had he not have had disputes with his brethren and had fled to my shores I wouldn’t be tangled in cobwebs of ships that sunk through my flesh, that sparked ever so deadly, in the tears I tried to drown consciously equating explosive power of 42.2 megatons drowning you, my dear son.
But tell me, how are you? Do you still have breathing complications? Are your lungs still struggling for life? Burnt holes in your eyes that run skin deep. How are your children? Do they know who they are?
Now that you’re old enough, this is your story.
Sincerely,
your mother pacific.
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Krystal Elizabeth Selwood is 22 years young. A Youngsolwaran based in Samoa, and is of Papua New Guinea and Samoan parentage.

​“I stand firmly with the belief that anyone and everyone should not be deprived their equal right to feel and believe, among other things I believe in a peaceful future and a stable society.”
Krystal Elizabeth Selwood is 22 years young. A Youngsolwaran based in Samoa, and is of Papua New Guinea and Samoan parentage.
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  • HOME
  • ABOUT US
  • ONLINE EXHIBITIONs
    • CANCEL RIMPAC EXHIBITION >
      • VIDEOS
      • VISUAL ART
      • POETRY
    • MORNING STAR EXHIBITION >
      • Visual Art
      • Poetry
      • Video Blog
      • Podcast
  • OUR WEAVE
  • OUR ARTISTS
  • OUR OCEAN
    • Maohi Lives Matter
    • The Ocean We Need
    • Connecting Our Ocean of Struggles: Remembering Why We Sweat and Cry Salt Water
    • Mai Em(Ocean) 2018
    • New Clear Ways >
      • Our Pacific Needs New Clear Ways NOT Japan's Waste
      • Not Japan's Dumpsite
      • We Are Not Alone
      • Pass the Solution for Nuclear Justice
      • 75th Commemoration of the Atomic Bomb on Hiroshima
      • Solidarity with Guahan
    • Ban Seabed Mining >
      • Deep Sea COP
  • OUR STRUGGLES
    • Self Determination >
      • International Day for Human Rights 2020
      • Kanaky Referendum
      • We Bleed Black & Red >
        • Let West Papua Join the MSG
        • Wan Musik Wan Sing Concert 2020
        • Raise the Morning Star 2019
        • Vigil and Call to Action 2019
        • Free the West Papua Seven
        • Fiji NGO Coalition Call for Intervention
        • MACFEST Solomon Islands 2018
        • Youngsolwara Artist Camp 2018
        • I am Nesia Campaign
        • Hawaii Bleeds Black & Red
        • Defenders of Self Determination Exhibition 2016
        • National Day of Action 2014
    • Madang Wansolwara Dance
  • MEDIA
    • Videos
    • Press
  • CONTACT