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Dear Honourable Sirs....


An entry in The Crocodile Prize

We are your loyal supporters, remember us

Your fellow Papua New Guineans

the honoured rabble who raised you up to lofty heights

We drink your poisoned brew

while we suffer your misspent fortunes

watch our heritage squandered

and our independence scorned.

In our National Parliament

where once walked wise men, proud and true

where once were just laws, written and defended

Foolishness now rules that house

where the Honourable vie for their own (rabble)

with their educated rhetoric, regurgitated oratory

sanctimonious as wallowing sows and as smelly.

In our Nation's Capital

beggars loiter while wealthy loaded landowners’ loaf

pickpockets, thieves and informal street sellers roam

as mountains crumble and trees topple

littering our rivers and seas

Our ancestral lands and siblings are divided over riches

money for dishonourable dignity in Port Moresby.

There Honourable Sirs you dwell

and celebrate our nations prosperity

which we apparently are yet to receive

There Honourable Sirs you play pernicious politics

you and your rabble, squabble, dribble, grapple

for position, power and prestige, PNG Big Man policies

Your slightest glance is our grace, Dear Honourable Sirs.

In our towns and villages

far, far from freeways, Fairfax and Finance ministry

we hear tales of civilisation, rumours of development

Our aging fathers idly reminisce

while their beloved sons seek other forms of bliss

Mothers and matriarchs do what their daughters should do

excuse what their children have done, and for you.

We are the commoners from those rural towns and villages

those hamlets not seen on Falcon's flight

distant, and remote, you’ve forgotten our vote

Our sweat feeds this nation

Our blood/land bathes/fills your alters/coffers

Our tears are granted no remittance

Our fates are in your hands.

We are the unheard voices

disenchanted, disowned and denied

How long lived is your deception

schemes and dreams and fantasies

where are the promised fruits?

Your majestic visions

leave us in dearth and doom.

We are your people

we gave, glorified and grovelled for you

now disrespected, deceived and destitute

We are the infants you suckle on a flimsy future

the unborn cheated, betrayed and bartered

as your virulent greed robs our womb.

God save Papua New Guinea!


Icarus, of course, is a pseudonym. The poet writes: “It has been my practice to submit sketches by pseudonym through personal email account, by which route a number have been published in The National newspaper’s writer’s forum. I would prefer to remain anonymous. The importance of contributing to my nation’s development through literature outweighs this slightly divergent action. I would like to thank all those involved in establishing The Crocodile Prize. Righteous!”


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Robin Lillicrapp

Outspoken but subtle. Like it.

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