Unconquered Papua.

Oh land of untrodden blue mountains, Ol vast, lonely, stretches of sea Of rivers that roar through great forests— What return have you given to me?

What return, for the years I have squandered?

What return for my hopes and my dreams?

Your answer comes down through the stillness In the voice of your crystal clear streams.

I am Papua! The last of the Stone Age.

My neck is still free from that chain Which you and your kindred have shackled Round the isles of the great southern main.

Do you think, you poor white-skinned intruder As you crawl round my coral-reefed

strands,

That my heart you can soften or alter?

Look around, at the work of your hands!

You have delved in my heart to find copper; In my streams you have hunted for gold.

Are those ruins, that rusting machinery The results of all you have sold?

In the whole of my land can you show me One road, or one railway, or train?

Your chief town hasn’t even fresh water— Without, by some chance, it should rain!

Of my streams which are numbered in thousands Is there one you have harnessed and used?

My forests! Have you tried to preserve them?

They are cut, and destroyed, or abused.

My populace, dwindling, should teach you The worth of your laws and your rule — Their dead village sites they confront you, From Buna, far north, round to Yule.

On my shores you have made your plantations.

I laugh! For your efforts are vain.

Where, now, are your cotton and rice fields, Tobacco or sweet sugar cane.

Your rubber! You fawn on your neigh bour To allow your few trees to remain.

Your hemp! You had thousands of acres.

You allowed the long grass to reclaim.

Your copra! My land had her palm trees Or ever you white men came near.

Is there one thing in which you’ve succeeded?

Give answer! I’m willing to hear.

As a child marks with chalk upon granite Are your efforts, and those in the past.

As I was in the days of D’Entrecastreau So I am —and shall be —to the last!

Samarai, 1/7/33. —KANIATTY.