I refuse to surrender a memory for honor obliges that I

Do not as they say to, but to

Make the world as I want to.

To the Other Side then, and Seas of my Father!

Nothing but the thundering hooves of my childhood, and of Sumba

Could quicken the dead pulse of fatigue.

And emerging on the other side, where all is

Upside down, my senses perceived the

Forgotten aroma of sandalwood forests, felled long ago but still

Carried - as if by the pallbearers of a hot wind along the

Motherly curve of rolling hills and grass yellowing too long in the sun.

On this other side I revisited the southern sky at night, as it

Bends the moon across thick blades of Batak grass, and as

The stars refract against the dew-laden leaves of giant trees in Borneo, and as

Children smile as broad as the waters of the mighty Mahakam.

Returning and unearthing the lands of my Father, I perceive

His mellow voice ringing in my hopeful ears like an echo dim amongst shouts.

What of your places and your things? What of the foreign? We have an overseas too, and

This he shared as an endless gift to his daughter:

That in greatness must follow compassion and the capacity for

Untold secret clans of kindness.
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