#47- Missing pieces of home

In the end,
we all come back
In search
of our missing pieces

– It taunts us every day.

Our bedroom mirrors
Take peace from us.
Reminding us,
That there is another world 

-Inside of us 

We are still looking.

Never quite seen.
Scattered shards
Across foreign lands.

– We are hidden,

In distant lands,
Between what you want to see
And what we let you see.

We see what we remember,
But we forget too. 

So I carry a bilas bilum
And she wears a meri blouse.
Seeking approval from the mirror
Before we head to the day:

 Maski, yu wait meri pinis.
Maski, yu wait man pinis.

Our bedroom mirrors
Are missing pieces.
Reflecting what’s missing
Inside of us.

It takes the peace from us,
Leaving us anxious
For home.

– Hans Lee

Where I wrote this….

Continue reading “#47- Missing pieces of home”

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#46 Poem: Behind Steel Bars

Behind Steel Bars

Steel bars line the edge of this world.

Clad, cold, courage,
rust bearing steel bars.
Be strong.

Guard us.
Vestige reminder –
the colonial knights armour,
there is faith in steel.

Guard conscience, pray they
from perils that lay await.
Still, idle imagination loiters.
Give colour to grey steel bars.

Think.
Keep safe, this world.
Guard against, the light of night
Come what may.

Tall – stand picket.
Poke sharp, the heavens soft whites.
Reach high, the blue distant moun-tains

Or is it sky?

Picket steel bars,
stand watch.

Yet, the darkness in day
pierces the safety of this
prison.

@ Hans Lee

Where I wrote this
This piece was written in one sitting at the Airways Hotel in Port Moresby. I was looking for place to sit, read and write and this was the only (third) space that I could really work in. I highly recommend it, though I don’t know how busy it gets here – I was lucky enough to have it all to myself (and the security guard) while I wrote.

As you may have guessed it already, coffee definitely had something to do with this post. Nothing like a bit of caffeine to get the creative juices flowing.

Why I wrote it

wp-image--210183966
Dr Steven E. Winduo’s ‘The Unpainted Mask’

At the time of writing, I was reading Dr. Steven Winduo’s book, The Unpainted Mask, which had weaved through the stories these ideas of objectivity and reflection. Telling his story from the first person, he observed the irony of the residents in Port Moresby who work to be part of a life that was ironic, bordering moronic, according to him. People who work so hard to keep an image that is expensive to maintain (the masks).

It made me reflect on where I was at in that moment of writing, looking out into the distant natural landscape through steel bars designed to protect me. From what? Well that was just it, I didn’t know. Maybe it was to protect my conscience from whatever was out there. In the distant was the cloud and blue mountain (or sky) but in the foreground was the protruding steel picket fence.

I was taking refuge behind these fences to carry out the art of being this version of me. It is definitely part of this Journey Home for me. I can’t say anything because I am (unfortunately) part of this group, but I shed no regret for this lifestyle. I wouldn’t be who I am, writing what I write, if it were not for my experiences.

I’ll leave it at that.

@ Hans Lee

#43 Nau mai rā

– I feel a June chill sting my bones.

I meet a strange land in the stillness of the night:

I find my bones longing for the damp, cold, chill.
The kind that lasts through grey endless months of dreaded wet weather.
You know.
– where long white clouds give way to dark grey skies.

I find my heart warm to endless summer days,
The kind that lasts a whole day.
You know.
– where long white clouds adorn blue skies.

Silly moments harbour memories.

I miss wet socks
I miss damp jumpers
I miss sitting in the warmth of coffee shops
I miss having something in common with the other half of the city

– The city.
I miss the city.
It’s noise
It’s sights.
It’s smell.
It’s taste.

Drifting into the still chimes after midnight,
I find myself reciting Dave Dobbyn
Yes tonight I am feeling you under the state a strange land,
And I hear the voice of a woman with her hands trembling

Haere Mai
Nau mai rā

Come
Welcome home

@ Hans Lee

 

 

#39 A Journey Back Home (Poem)

I wondered
Into the day
To find where I belonged,
Leaving time and space before me,
Feet after feet
– A growing distance.

In front,
I was drawn into eyes,
Shimmering beneath blistering sunsets.
Each time wondering,
Whether sunrise would bring me back over the horizon.

And I held my breath.
Each time,
In belief that dawns beauty
Would steal my breath away.

– Each time,
It almost did.
But each time,
I found my feet,
And caught my breath,
Each and every time

– Grasping on tight
To that part of me;
Still wrestling wild,
For a missing
Part of me.

At noon,
It came in cups of smiles
On plates of tears,
That asked me to stay.

Each time,
I almost did,
But each time,
I caught my breath,
And found my feet,
Each and every time

– Searching for the next step.

Only this time,
I stepped back.
And saw me standing there,
In the shadow of a silhouette,
who had lost its way.

And so I turned,
To find my feet,
Leading me home,
To where I never left.

I feel a June chill stinging my bones.

@Hans Lee