CRY OF THE SEPIK

By Sylvester Gawi 

I am the child of the winding Sepik,  

Where the waters flow like stories told,  

Through forests thick and mountains high,  

Carving life in currents bold.

She is our mother, the Sepik strong,  

Her arms cradle the fish and the trees,  

Her breath is the wind in the Sago groves,  

Her heart is the pulse in the breeze.

She feeds the gardens, fills the nets,  

Gives us life with every tide,  

Her waters are the blood we share,  

On her banks, we stand with pride.

But dark clouds rise upon her brow,  

The mines will spill their poisoned rain,  

Their waste will seep deep into her soul,  

And she'll carry a silent pain.

The fish float still, the waters turn,  

The life she gave begins to fade,  

Her once clear voice now choked with silt,  

A price for progress, wrongly paid.

Oh, hear us now, you distant ones,  

Who dig the earth and scar the land,  

The Sepik cries, her children mourn,  

Her future rests within your hand.

For without her, we too will fade,  

Like whispers lost in poisoned streams,  

Save the Sepik, heal her wounds,  

And let her flow with timeless dreams.