Speed & Papuan time
O’Neill wants me fired as police minister

Our Final Turn


A poem for Bougainville

We’ve made a bold stand,
And now we take our turn
Ink finely stretches on paper
unleashing that burning desire
our longing for ages gone

Our past guides our future
the spirit of freedom is Alive
Old men shall take its rest
Children shall sing and rejoice
The moment has arrived

We call this freedom at last
our soldiers lay down arms
Brave comrades’ pain eased
Take aim with their final shot
Ink finely stretches on paper,
As we take our final turn.


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