By | 1 November 2016

Rain falls on the tin roof
I sit in the cold with a cigarette
Your voice calls as if from the green mountains
Your guitar plays
plucking notes from your homeland
though it is the heat of Manus Island that caresses your skin.
You sing my love
You sing your freedom
Your longing
A gift for me
I am alone listening
to your song
trilling against the wash of the Pacific Ocean.
Your guitar strums the triumph of a freedom yet to come
Your voice sings as a bird rising from the earth
I can do nothing but blaze in the beauty of this
In the beauty of your unlikely music.
Your song
plucked from a cage
bursts over the oceans
arriving like rain on a tin roof.

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