Destruction on Manus Island

Dear Prime Minister,

I have written to you several times about the poet and gardener Mohammad Ali Maleki who we have imprisoned on Manus Island for 4 years. This week's hasty destruction of living quarters and the prayer room in Foxtrot section of Manus RPC have, unbelievably, included the destruction of Mohammad Ali's garden. This is what he writes:

THE ISLAND GARDEN
Goodbye the little garden.
In this dry island.
I have an empty room.
With all its warmth.
I got asthma.
At the back of my room.
I have planted a good garden.
I worked on it everyday
Giving it water and fertilizer.
It was my faithful friend..
better than many.
It was my closest co-mate
And used to listen to me carefully.
My words were all sad.
I was used to saying my sadness.
It smiled and said,
”Don’t get upset my sweetheart.
You will get free someday.”
One day I went to the garden.
I found it damped .
It had lost it’s feature.
I asked it “what happened darling?
Why are you sad?
You’re surrounded by fences.
Are you saddened by the fences?
It said “I have heard yesterday.
You wanna leave here.
You yourself brought me.
You put me between fences.
You took me away from nature.
Took me away from jungle.
I broke up with those.
Just because of you.
To be here beside you.
By passing a few years.
You wanna leave here.
And leave me alone here. ?”
Garden was telling the truth.
I brought it here.
Tears fell down from my eyes.
What should I do God?
What a mistake I made!
I have imprisoned you here.
I have betrayed you.
I said “listen sweetheart.
It’s not my own decision to stay.
It’s not my choice to leave too.
These evil people.
Have made a decision for me.
To annoy us again.”
I sat down and thought.
How can I tell this to the garden
To make it calm down.
I lied to the garden.
”I will never leave you.
I will be with you.
I will be with you forever.
Please smile again.
I like to see your smile .
To make it certain.
I have planned my hands into a garden.
By passing a few days
grass grew on my hands.
On the palms of my hands.
Nightingale sat on my hand .
She laid eggs on my hands
To hatch someday .
And fly into the garden.
They brought bad news.
Your camp should be demolished.
Our camp is Foxtrot too.
The oldest camp of all.
Move from here.
It should be demolished completely.
These bad evil people.
Have no pity in their hearts.
They brought spade and pickaxe.
To destroy the garden.
Because of fear of these men.
I took my hands off the garden.
Green gross and stems.
Feel and broke.
When Nightingale saw it.
She cursed and flew.
These evil bad hearted people.
Took it away and stopped.
The sun ☀ and Moon lights shine onto the garden.
They ordered the sky
To not rain on the garden.
My garden got dry a little .
Flowers and bushes got dry.
My garden ground
got as dry as the first day.
They pickaxed the garden.
And cut the flowers .
My poor little garden.
Was crying and sighing.
It was begging them to not do it.
My body feels pain.
My garden sound,
It’s sighs filled my ears.
They were cutting the flowers
These bad evil men.
Were smiling to flowers .
They killed my hope .
They set my soul on fire.
My garden was my soul.
It was my everything.
I cried towards the garden
And poured its soil on my head.
And cleaned my face.
With the blood of flowers .
For the last time.
I said good-bye to the garden.
And I died under my garden.
The Island Garden.
— Mohammad Ali Maleki, https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10155322167277716&set=a.47736032715.56485.547502715&type=3&theater
https://rochfordstreetreview.com/2016/10/01/featured-writer-mohammad-ali-maleki-biographical-note-curated-by-zalehah-turner/

https://rochfordstreetreview.com/2016/10/01/featured-writer-mohammad-ali-maleki-biographical-note-curated-by-zalehah-turner/

No more, I beg you. No more.