Milne Bay Province

Why my poems are black and grey

Take a glimpse at this painting I named my life,

Daubs of memories are splattered far and wide,

They show a picture of my reasons why,

 

So with words I paint,

With my weapon slash brush in my hand,

My mighty and trusty pen,

 

I’ll paint until my hands crinkle and bend,

I will paint until someone stands up in our broken land,

Until the cycle of violence ends,

 

Until the broken can be helped to mend,

Until the silenced no longer startle at the slight of hand,

Until the cowardly are disgraced and shamed,

 

I paint in black and shades of gray,

And pack the vivid crisp colors away,

So all will know my country is not okay

Homecoming

The sea breeze whispers as it sweeps by,

The sun tiptoes across the skyline,

Orange streaks shoot out across the sky,

The sea slaps on beach as if to say hi,

Coconut leaves rustle greeting as I walk by,

A red stained smile makes my heart jump in reply,

Tears run down rheumy eyes,

“You came,” he whispers in this beautiful language of mine,

Wonderful shaky old calloused hands reach out,

They hold my hands and trace nose, mouth and eyes,

The scent of sea, wood smoke and freshly cut wood swirl together deliciously,

All around birds, children, insects and people speak,

No jarring noise just blending perfectly,

Sago thatched roofs bring back memories,

Black palm walls achingly familiar,

White coral crunches as I sit,

Small, hard leathery palms touch and squeeze my feet,

And wipe away my tears,

As she whispers softly,

“I knew you would come back to me.”

iyabara©2010

This poem came about one day when I was homesick. I sat for ages yearning to go home.

I yearn for home but there is nothing there for me so I guess town is where I will live and die.