Featuring a collection of poetry from participants.
Let us continue to write history through poems for West Papua.
Let us continue to write history through poems for West Papua.
DIABOLICAL SILENCE - By Lorraine Kluki
Poet's Brief:Lorraine Kluki is from Papua New Guinean and a final year student at the University of Papua New Guinea who is pursuing a career in the field of Journalism and Public Relations.
She has a passion for poetry and creative writing and aspires to be a writer. Lorraine uses her poetry to raise issues affecting Melanesia and hope to write more about West Papua. 
Visit her Blog on Facebook
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Agony of loss ripples through the land,
A father has been tortured, A mother has been raped, A child has been traumatized from the violence, Living in fear that was complete silence, For violence has become their daily routine. Fading into the background, Overshadowed by the injuries inflicted, A land of Red Sea where blood soaks, Where tears dried from screeching, And sweats dried from pleading, While hearts bleed silently. Racism and hatred that scented the air, Depravation and hardship that runs wild like the waves, Ruthless and inhumane actions that stained the land, For there is no ultimate leverage, For an average, And memories that taunted them in the form of nightmares. Searing loneliness of the land, The static silence, The gentle hum of eternity, The nature mourns of the natives For they are captives, That needs to breathe freely from the suffocation. |
What Freedom Should Look Like - By Krystal Juffa
Poet's Brief:Krystal is based in Samoa, and is of Papua New Guinea and Samoan parentage.
She says, “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”. Read more about Krystal HERE |
What color is freedom you ask?
I say blood We have paid our debts in blood bank tanks You have slaughtered many and filled our river banks Hundreds of thousands my many men cry Must tomorrow when tomorrow how many must die 6 deep too luxurious gut them on the road Don't kill them fast it's easy do it slow Blood spill, war cry a daily routine Indonesian soldiers and men you play for the same team Killing, raping taking as you please Fighting pleading there is too much room greed Must a child grow tiresome of a war he yet not seen Must a mother weep a husband as they drag by his feet Chains so heavy the only travelling you do you do when you sleep Counting sheep is pointless, cocking guns and tears as you weep Dumping bodies selfish grins and boneless supper "you must bow you must bend you must suffer" Salut to him a day born of fucking hate Today comes a sacrifice we all must make |
Morning Star - By Georgianna Lepping
Poet's Brief:Georgianna Lepping is a poet from the Solomon Islands. She is also a writer, freelance filmmaker and activist
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I'm more than just a piece of cloth
I'm a reminder that freedom has to be fought. Unity can never be bought Independence, we sought. A threat to the majority A symbol of hope to my people Alas the barriers divide the minority Still my colors stand firm than a steeple. I can be raised as long as another stood higher beside me, A distinguished gesture to control or abolish my people from their own soil with all its might, Bearing bicolour of horizontal lines of Red and White, Where only civilians join me in this unjust fight. As if my children are not human their Rights are stripped. My fraying fabric sway with time, Time did tick My fighters are exiled, my children evicted. Worse tortured and murdered all because they believed in freedom and freedom is addicted. My children walked and slept on Gold with nothing to eat. Tell me why did the world fail to see this inequality? These horrid deeds. Greed has already turned so many eyes blind. But through it all since the day I was born, my star shall not twinkle but shine. Till that day the world awakes Till the day my seven blue stripes shall no more be overruled. I will still be the symbol for my children's sake Their future will be theirs; their voices will be heard. And I The Morning Star Will be hoisted higher Reclaiming what was once mine For now, let me twinkle Let me twinkle till I shine |
Denial of Freedom - By Lorraine Kluki
Poet's Brief:Lorraine Kluki is from Papua New Guinean and a final year student at the University of Papua New Guinea who is pursuing a career in the field of Journalism and Public Relations.
She has a passion for poetry and creative writing and aspires to be a writer. Lorraine uses her poetry to raise issues affecting Melanesia and hope to write more about West Papua.
Visit her Blog on Facebook
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HELP!
We need voices! Media, where are you? Where are the organizations that advocate for Human Rights? Why is there censorship? They say this is democracy. Yet, there is no Right to Freedom of Expression HELP! The enduring pain is unfathomable, Like we are being obliterated by a cyclone. A wordless, directionless nightmare that cocooned us. The atmosphere is too tense, Like a blanket that smother the burning fire of freedom. We yearned for comfort. HELP! We are birds in cages. Our pride in nationality is wounded. Please, help free us! Help suppress the woe, From our foe. We need cosmic connection to our land again. HELP! You have heard and read the tale of our struggles somewhere, You have seen photographs somewhere, You have watched videos somewhere, Stand with us, Fight with us, Help save our heritage and free us from the vault of violation. |
Tribute To Benny Wenda - By Lorraine Kluki
Poet's Brief:Lorraine Kluki is from Papua New Guinean and a final year student at the University of Papua New Guinea who is pursuing a career in the field of Journalism and Public Relations.
She has a passion for poetry and creative writing and aspires to be a writer. Lorraine uses her poetry to raise issues affecting Melanesia and hope to write more about West Papua.
Visit her Blog on Facebook
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In the face of adversity,
You are the rock. A pillar that holds the foundation of faith, For the people see liberation in you. Hoping for a better tomorrow, You try to unleased independence, To grant your people freedom And broaden their confidence. They denied your people’s right, You pushed harder. Your competency is incomprehensible Hence, nothing can sabotage your mission. Your determination emanate, To emancipate your people. You seek to diminish the tragedies And unchained the threshold of fears. You lead with passion And influence with your position. You explore boundaries that bind your people. And harness your primal power for better. |
Freedom For Homeland - By Duncan Gabi
Poet's Brief:Duncan Gabi is a young writer, blogger and environmentalist from Papua New Guinea. He believes in freedom for all and a voice for the suppressed and voiceless.
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It was around 11pm in the night when I heard the gunshots; my mother quickly trimmed down the burning kerosene lamp and told me to pick my younger sister up and carry her. My younger sister was also wide-awake and crying out of fear. My mother tried to soothe and calm her down but her attempts were to no avail. I was mad, if she continued crying, the Indonesian soldiers will surely find us but she was only three years old and could not stop. I knew she was scared, and so was I. I carried her on my back giving her a piggyback ride and went out as my mother packed the little material possessions we owned, a kerosene lamp, a few clothes, some rusty old plates and a cooking pot into her noken.
I ran out and stood outside our makeshift house constructed from sago leaves and bush materials as the gunshots stopped. I stood listening to the silent night for more gunshots but there was a total silence, and then I heard a bang and saw a flare shot up into the dark night. I knew the Indonesian soldiers shot it up to light up the place. The red light from the flare pierced the darkness and lit up the area up to a quarter mile. From the shadows, I saw my people running into the bushes, old people too weak to move just sat beside the fire and waited for the soldiers to catch them and decide their fate. They had been running from the soldiers since they were little kids. They had fought against the soldiers all their lives. Most have lost limbs; most had lost the will to live. They were tired of running. I heard one say as he was ushered by his grandson into the dark thick Papuan jungle. Another flare was shot up and then a third, then nothing for some good minutes. Then the gunshots started again, continuous firing from AK47 and AR15 machinery from the sound of the gunshots. The AK47 shots were coming from our people, the resistance army. I knew the guns because I once went to live in a training camp run by the Papuan Resistance. I stayed there for two months learning how to use a gun, handling explosives and the art of camouflaging in the jungle. The leader of the Papuan Resistance said that the jungle was the only strong defense we had against the Indonesian soldiers and we must utilize it in our fight against them. We know the jungles like the back of our hand so we had an advantage over the Indonesian soldiers. I was going into my explosives training when my mother came and took me out of the training camp. She said I was too young for fight for the cause because I was only thirteen. That was two years ago. We heard the gunshots continue when we were safely across the river, but the shots died some minutes later, then we heard single shots fired from rifles. The flares continued going up into the dark sky, the moon did not come out that night. I think the moon did not want to witness the slaughter and blood being spilled on the land so it hid his face behind the dark clouds. We knew our resistance fighters had retreated into the forest or were sorely defeated in the battle. We made camp near a small creek and rested for the night as we had been walking for almost four hours. When I laid down, my mother said she was not feeling sleepy anymore so she would stay up until the first morning light. She had my baby sister on her lap; she sang some songs my grandmother used to sing to me when I was a child. I watched my sister suck her thumb and drifted into sleep. My eyelids were heavy and eyes salty so I closed my eyes and my mind drifted to our fallen soldiers. I woke to screams of agony and pain, most of our resistance fighters had been killed during the battle last night and a good number wounded. They were brought into our camping area on stretchers at dawn. Our women treated the wounded men while some strong men held them down. Bullets were removed from their flesh with knives and leaves from the bush placed over their wounds to cover them because we did not have first aid kits and proper medical supplies to treat wounds. After the wounded were treated, they were placed in hammocks suspended from trees and let to rest while the resistance fighters with platoon commanders gathered us to talk. The platoon commander, a tall muscular fellow with scruffy beard wearing a Che Guevara shirt stood in front of us and gave a shot five minutes motivational speech about Papuans rising up to fight oppression and occupation on our land. When his speech was over, he punched the air and raised a clenched fist and shouted “Papua”, all of us responded and said “Merdeka”. He continued “Papua”, we responded “Merdeka”. One of the fighters gave out three shots from his rifle and everybody joined and kept shouting “Papua Merdeka”. Someone in the middle of the crowd started a song and everyone joined in, amid the singing, tears flowed down the cheeks of men, women and children when the Morning Star was hoisted on a tall palm tree because we did not have a flag pole. Before our flying flag, we sang our song of freedom in tears with arms on our chests. After the small ceremony to honour the fallen and our motherland, the platoon leader once again stood before us and said he need soldiers. People were free to choose, no one was going to be forced into joining the resistance army. He asked for volunteers, and without thinking, I stood and saluted the flag of West Papua. There was cheering and stamping of feet on the ground. To our people, fighting for our people and land is an honour. I turned and looked at my mother. she had tears streaming down her face. She knew she could not stop me. She also knew I was going to fight for a cause, fight for my land and my people. I was going to fight for the freedom of West Papua. Read more HERE: |
Free Papua! (West, East, South and all about) - By Jacki Leota Mua
Poet's Brief:Jacki Leota-Mua is a Pacific scholar, writer, blogger and poet. She currently resides in Lae, Morobe Province of Papua New Guinea.
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I know two West Papuan women
one is pro-autonomy the other independence one battles in courtrooms the other campuses one fighting domestic abuse the other transnational both practice non-violence resisting Pacific advocates for 1.5 on niugini the largest island in the southern hemisphere heck, who is free men are but women and children are struggling for autonomy suffice to speak do play behind razor wire fences guard dogs and siren calls can’t walk, ride PMV or taxi the same raskols mining mama graun hold up parliament building and tok save like big men with pointed penis sheaths be-lie envelope size in made-to-measure suit-n-tie up tourists who will not come scared of hold-ups and jack-offs at least you can raise your own flag in PNG formatted with a warm hand-held device independence is lonely without a friend as long as the days proceeds are not compromised by politicians, corruptly flogging their wives away, you say vaccinated foreigners on paths of misadventure misdemeanor shooting up all y/our money honey bee/n like forever since there was a women in power, omnitron replace elections around unseen corners in cabinets which refuse to open locking out the two and more women i know who support and love and cleave on to a free Papua (West, East, South and all about) |
Am I loud enough now? - By Krystal Juffa
Poet's Brief:Krystal is based in Samoa, and is of Papua New Guinea and Samoan parentage.
She says, “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”. Read more about Krystal HERE |
Far cry must we cry
We fight for a tomorrow we may not see Far cry must we cry The bleeding have bled Far cry must we cry My skin my shelter Far cry must we cry My blood my only sin Far cry must we cry What you owe I own Far cry must we cry What belongs to me you steal Far cry must we cry Freedom a name withered only by lip Freedom only seen when eyes shut "Comfort" a foreign feel "Comfort" a painful deal I see the light it's dim I see a cry a hope in the wind I can almost reach it I can almost taste it But as I wake Here I still stand With freedom only in mind And not in skin With freedom only in soul And not by name With freedom only in spirit And not mine with which I hope one day to claim Here I fight my secret war Here I cry my silent tears And here I live through my silent pain. Am I loud enough? Am I loud enough now? |
A reflection - By Claire Asi
Poet's Brief:Claire Asi hails from Papua New Guinea. She has a passion for indigenous food culture, youth development, politics and public policy. Apart from her love for book and writing, Claire love the culture of food and owns a catering business in Port Moresby. She aims to restore the dignity of indigenous Melanesian cuisines.
“There is something liberating about seeing the evidence of our civilization in our indigenous food culture.” Currently residing in Buka, Autonomous Region of Bougainville whilst working for the Autonomous Bougainville Government. |
COLONISE:
To take land, culture, history, minds, and bodies. DECOLONISE: To win back that taken. REVOLUTION: To build a new future free of history's violent baggage. (source: https://www.ophir-film.com/) Living in an era of post colonialism, where is the dignity, belonging and recognition? As West Papua fights for its freedom; from the visible and invisible chains of colonization, a painful void remains. Until Merdeka is rebirthed with the Rise of The Morning Star. 60 years on. I want West Papua FREE in my lifetime. Fragmented remains of European patterns of thinking. The reconfiguration of the Melanesian psyche. The power of a simple line drawn on a map. Psychological oppression and epistemic injustice, rests at the seat of the soul. It continues to imprint itself in all our memories. As a Papuan, on the Eastern side of New Guinea, I ask myself and others: “What does it mean to be HUMAN in West Papua?” |
Poet: Alex Giyai
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Alex Giyai is a literacy activist, a writer, and a poet. Besides his writing activities, he is also doing some social work. He has been writing a lot of poetry and some short stories and novels. As a young West Papuan, Alex's daily activities are mostly the same as many other West Papuan youths.
Alex says, what inspired him to write was the reality of oppression in West Papua, colonialism, and militarism, and this situation inspired him to write poems about resistance. In this virtual concert and exhibition, Alex presents a poem with the title "Balada Bangsa Tertindas". He explains, this means, "we have lost many things from our lands. Therefore, we must fight to get back everything, protect everything left in the land of Papua, and defend what still exists. That includes independence and liberation". Alex says, "I wants to send his message to those who are still oppressing us, especially in Indonesia, that colonialism in the world must end because it is against humanity and justice. As we know, Indonesia has supported Palestine's struggle for self-determination. Why don't Indonesia also support West Papua for the right to self-determination? West Papua must be separate from Indonesia". |
Audio: Transcription/ Translation
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Indonesia
BALADAH BANGSA TERTINDAS Kami ialah sisa dari yang sudah musnah suara orang-orang tertindas tapi kami masih bernafas ‘tuk hidup memberontak lagi Kami ialah sisa dari yang diburu setiap detik dalam waktu karena kebenaran kata orang-orang terjajah tapi engkau tak dapat memadami kobaran ideologi di lubuk hati kami Kami ialah sisa dari yang dipenjarakan dari negara demokrasi kata orang-orang terbungkam namun kami akan bangkit melawan ketidakadilan, penindasan di atas negeri Kami ialah sisa dari yang dimarginalkan hidup anak negri dialamnya kata orang-orang tersingkir namun kami akan berjuang menentukan perahu kehidupan kami Kami ialah sisa dari segala kekayaan yang dirampas dari tangan hidup di atas pusaka kami kata orang-orang yang dieksploitasi tetapi kami akan merebutnya demi tanah tumpah darah kami Papua Hollandia (Jayapura) , 01 Juni 2015 English
BALLAD OF THE OPPRESSED NATION We are the remnant of what was destroyed the voice of the oppressed but we're still breathing 'to live rebellious again We are the remnant of the hunted every second in time because of the truth colonised people say but you can't extinguish the blaze of ideology in our hearts We are the remnant of the imprisoned from what it called a democratic country silenced people say but we will rise up against injustice, oppression over our homeland We are the remnant of the marginalised The life of a country child in nature said the eliminated people but we will fight back To define the boat of our life We are the remnants of all the stolen wealth from the hands of life on our heirlooms exploited people say but we will take it back For the sake of our homeland, Papua Hollandia (Jayapura) , 01 June 2015 |