Inside the POM General Hospital

O ye grey house! Inside this huge grey,
Doped by odours that baffled my nose,
Beheld I the consequences of sin.
At a glance gentle, determined I many
Rows of dilapidated hardware arranged
On steel platforms; painted in pain and
A host of pain and anxiety.
Discerned I at once as they turn and twist,
Beautiful wrecks like overripe tomatoes in
Gardens forsaken by water and light.
Next, idly watching fading glimmers,
Hardware remnants harassed my appetite.
Then the companions of birds at dawn!
Pale and inanimate as rocks, yet adorable;
Who’d dare watch emotions wet their cheeks?
Like endless tunnels of despair, their gazes,
Broke down the flood gates of my heart.
O what a waste of glorious work of art!
Dark and lonely cells of earth! ye are
Salivating over their anticipated arrivals.
Must I pray that in pensive mood, when
My own companion of birds watches I
Through a beautiful eye without a lens;
I shan’t with glimpses of this house wrestle,
Nor its olfactory scars once more breathe.


By: Jeffrey Febi     29 Mar 2010

If graves are fine places

If graves are fine and private places
Like some claim;
Then neither breaths of storm,
Nor wrinkles of love stir.
Then,
The warmth of heat
And
Serenity of silence,
Grace its solitary.
O sound of munching!
In secluded commotion,
Will a thing of past be.

Singaut na tokaut

Singaut strong yet na tokaut!

Singaut wantem Kundu!

Singaut wantem Bigul!

Singaut wantem Garamut!

Sanap long het blong olgeta maunten

Na singaut strong moa.

Tokim wind bilong maunten i karim,

Tokim wind bilong nambis is karim tu.

I go long maunten i gat bikpela Laplap,

Sanap antap long wanpela liklik maunten

Klostu long Haus Tumbuna olsem;

Coffee i bilas nau!

Na ol bee i danis i no isi.

Klostu bai ol man bilas na singsing tu.

Toksave hariap! Plis harim toksave!

Husait ol man silip insait long Haus Tumbuna?

Kirap nau na kam! Kam lukim ol bee danis!

Coffee i bilas nau! Kam! Kam na lukim!

Lukaut! Taim yupela kam,

Bikpela wara ya i belhat yet,

Na i wokim matmat blong ol coffee stap.

Kisim kar na kam! Noken wokabaut!

By: Jeffrey Febi                 17 Febi 2011

Such is life

On a path of uncertainty I tread

Always dreaming

Always yearning to encounter my dreams

But I languished in the realm of my dreams

I tried the path of selflessness

Hoping to cloth myself in total altruism

While appreciating the sweetness of selfishness

I realized I can only live a life of both selflessness and selfishness

The path of humility I chose

While enjoying commendations from others

I secretly approved my pretence

I will be truly human when I concede to egotism’s enticements

With unabated determination I walked the path of honesty

Stormy days I frequently did encounter

So brief moments off track helped sustain my endurance

This path is a crooked one

I tried to dwell on the path of content

Though I struggled to find refuge in sufficiency

Subtly I sang inadequacy over and over

Who in this world can truly sing “I am contended”

The path to love I walked

Comprising many entwining paths of varying ideals

Yet none adequate enough to lead to perfect love

It remains a collection of theories

In my dreams

I heard whispers from the path to death

Many grumbles of unfulfilled dreams

I shall strive to postpone my time of departure

For my dreams have been elusive

Then I realized

Life thrives on a rollercoaster

And mystery adorns perfection

History attests to this mockery

So such is life

By: Jeffrey Febi

First published on Writers Forum in the Weekender of the National paper.

My Grandfather's Bilum

How grandfather's bilum, which
Across my father's bare chest,
In a loving embrace slung.
Like the Leleki baskets' blest
How while so pregnant swung.

How dwelleth he my father in its rich
Splendour till handing-over of its rest,
Then over my clothed chest again sways.
O this old bilum! like all other blest
No longer is laden with in my days.

For its treasures I search in earnest,
That I may grandfather's mind know.
O this bilum is no longer pregnant!
Along the way, maybe some time ago,
How many treasures fade; this instant

Till my sleep, I'll summon eagerness
To my modern soul strengthened to seek.
Grandfather's treasures may be hidden;
Yet thru a new eye must I ever peek
For glimpses my days have forbidden.


This poem was first published in the Writers' Forum of the National Weekender, then on PNG Attitude 's (http://asopa.typepad.com/asopa_people/the-crocodile-prize/) Crocodile Prize and on Dreamzmedia (http://dreamzmedia.wordpress.com/2011/01/15/poem-my-grandfathers-bilum/)

Do we have to sacrifice all our 'Tumbuna Pasin' to embrace modernity?

What happens to a lie spoken?

Does its presence vanish,
Like dew drops in the morn sun;
Or linger on unashamed,
Like stench in still air?
Do its footprints hide,
Like a wave's on a sandy beach;
Or in remembrance persist,
Like a warrior's battle scars?
Does it a known destination reach,
Like rivers that heed the call of sea;
Or journeys to just about anywhere,
Like thin smoke from a dying fire?
Does it in death's rest pause,
Like a male honey bee;
Or continues uninterrupted,
Like the naked scorching sun?

Jeffrey Febi


This poem was first published in the Writers's Forum of The National. It is also an entry in the Crocodile Literary Prize; a competition by PNG Attitude (asopa.typepad.com) to encourage PNG writers, poets and journalists.

jefebi-whispers:

jefebi-whispers:

Just starting!

Hi friends,

This will be my blog. I will be posting my poems soon here.

Cheers.