My Country Now Free From War
Now I'm happy because my country is free from war.
Happy at last because there's no more war in East Timor.
The colour white, the colour green,
They mean my country is living in peace and hope.
One guitar,
One chair,
One music,
One bike,
Sunshine,
Breeze.
My whole being enjoying together.
Some food,
Some drink,
Some party dishes,
Some dancing together with friends,
And planning for the future.
People don't cry any more because of war,
People no longer like war,
They've said goodbye to war
And welcome to peace and reconciliation.
People wake up in the morning and go to work,
Coming home from work they can talk about the future.
And I hope if all the peoples in the world read this poem,
They will say "we're happy there's no more war in East Timor".
Politician! Please don't make any more war in East Timor,
Nor people from other countries, please don't make war.
People from Indonesia and Australia,
Please work together with East Timor,
To make a batter future for East Timor.
Folk from around the world please enjoy this poem with me.
Once in My Bedroom
My life is a star. It is a road that leads to my final destination.
My life is a noise that comes from chatters and screams of my children before they go to bed.
My life is a serious search for the letters that construct the sentences of my literary work.
My life - no more no less - will tell you all. One day, we will sing together – PEACE, FREEDOM, JUSTICE and PROGRESS in EAST TIMOR.
I am now entering a dark room. Outside it is still daytime. I am going to reflect on my whole being. I am going to hear all the noises of cars that pass by under my bedroom windows. I will listen to all conversations of passer-bys and the laughs of children outside my room. And I'm alone. My life is a PROGRESS.
I looked in the mirror. There I found a body and a soul Timorese. There I saw it in their eyes, but said nothing. My land is beautiful and rich, but I'm far from it.
I stop to think, look at the phrases, but feel nothing. Everything is empty. Without me, you won’t read these sentences. I am one of you who love PEACE and PROGRESS in EAST TIMOR.
I am still in my dark room, although outside it is still daytime. The alarms sounded, although there was no danger in my door, in my house, in my neighborhood and within my heart.
But the silence that I am feeling – it seems that there were already no more signs of life. This means that it is night. And yet I still write about my gift, my man. And, I'm one of you, who love the FREEDOM.
The noises, the chatters and the songs of children are beautiful. Children have every right to be children. They begin to say the alphabet, Aa Bb Cc Dd Ee ... to Zz.
Thanks to you, always next to me and supporting me in my literary journey.
SOUL POET TIMORESE
I just read two messages –
The first from a friend of many years,
Older than me.
The other from a friend younger than me –
All this, thanks to modern technology
That could instantly deliver these two written messages to me.
I searched for their meaning.
In my adventure as poet and traveler,
I often lost my control to be a true TIMORESE!
I established, tied, or delivered myself with my whole being – body and mind.
The message: how could we represent the true SOUL TIMORESE?
It was a forceful and heavy message - one that was too hard to hear.
But I confess, I liked hearing it.
Perhaps a smell of coffee from Timor would quench my longing.
Perhaps a korematan melody would quench my longing…
Perhaps a typical Timorese dish like batardan, katupa, and sasate would quench my longing…
I know there are many old Timorese who want all their children
Preserve the spirit of a Timorese.
I know, among strangers, there are many Timorese children who continue their search for their Timorese root.
I know there are many mothers who pray for the day when we praise the language of TIMOR…
For me, everything’s fine…
Ser timorense,
Ser poeta
Um papagaio caiu em cima do tecto da minha casa.
Era de manhã, no princípio do mês de Agosto.
Na Inglaterra, país onde eu vivo e admiro.
Chuva??? Sim.
No verão de 2008.
Não sei se aconteceu, apenas, na minha imaginação...
O que é certo, é que a olhar para o papagaio, surgiu-me, então, outra ideia.
Foi assim:
“Quando eu comecei a aprender a língua portuguesa, nunca pensei
Que um dia iria escrever os meus poemas em Português”.
Hoje em dia, tenho orgulho em ser Timorense,em ser um poeta viajante.
Tenho que confessar a minha paixão pelo mundo literário
E revelar, também, a minha sensibilidade pelo mundo que me rodeia.
É bom aprender a língua portuguesa.
É bom saber exprimir as nossas ideias na língua de Camões, Saramago, Lídia Jorge, Manuel Alegre e outros poetas e escritores portugueses.
O vento começou a soprar e levou com ele algumas das minhas ideias,
Enquanto eu permaneço no meu lugar, a olhar para fora.
Entrego todo o meu ser: o meu corpo e a minha mente, a quem queira ouvir- me
E juntar-se comigo, na busca do papagaio pendurado no tecto da minha casa.
O papagaio bonito, lindo de cor branca desapareceu da minha mente.
Mas a minha memória sobre o meu primeiro contacto com a língua portuguesa continua a permanecer.
Obrigado por ti
Obrigado por Timor
"A Vida é uma arte"
A arte não é política.
Mas a política é uma arte.
Porque a arte nasce por causa da política.
A política faz a arte,
A vida é uma arte,
Mas os políticos exploram a arte.
Os políticos morrem, é uma arte.
A arte morre é um cadastro.
As crianças nascem, é uma arte.
Os pais e as crianças morrem é um cadastro.
Os políticos criam a arte,
Os políticos têm a vida.
Mas arte não os ama.
A vida não lhes pertence.
Porque a vida é uma arte
E os políticos exploram a arte.
By: Celso Oliveira, Poeta Timor Oan
