Xanana Gusmao has written poetry since his youth. He continued to write through the difficult years of resistance during the Indonesian occupation, and during his time in prison in Indonesia.
"I am at war the sky is not mine I am at war the sea is not mine, I am at war and life is won only in death?br> In the hope of regaining my sea!"
From the depths of the ocean a crocodile in search of a destiny spied the pool of light, and there he surfaced
Then wearily, he stretched himself out in time and his lumpy hide was transformed into a mountain range where people were born and where people died
- the legend says and who am I to disbelieve that he is Timor!
If I could only in the cold mornings wake up shivering beaten by the gale which opens for me the curtain of the sky, and see, from the top of my hills, the purple painting of a disturbed sunrise east of Timor
If I could only in the scorching suns ride in raptures towards the finding of myself in the serene plains of the pasture, and feel the smell of animals drinking from the springs which would murmur in the air, legends of Timor
If I could only in the calm afternoons feel that tiredness of the sensuous nature stretching itself in its own sweat and listen to the telling of the wearinesses within the laughters of the naked barefoot children of all Timor
If I could only at the darkening of the waves walk by the sand absorbed in myself in the wet rapture of the breeze and touch the immensity of the sea in a breath of soul which let me dream the future of the island of Timor
Maubere People, Maubere, child of East Timor, tear open your belly, your cravings, ruts of neglect, of anguish, of oppression, and hurl them to the wind, to your furthest brother, in the secret places of the sacred land, of your parents, of your children, of your grandparents, of your grandchildren...
Maubere People, clench your fists, The hour is your's, Maubere! And your defiance will bring down the walls of your own enslavement!?
Maubere People, confront and face yourself in the long march of liberation. Liberate yourself! Be strong!匓e Maubere.
""My Sea of Timor"
Immersed in my thoughts I was suddenly shaken
From the sea, my sea, out of the bellies of ships, tremors came
I looked at the erupting sky, and the size of the sea were cries of agony the gentle breeze the smell of dust and blood the kiss of the foam the death-rattle the sea's slumber. the pebbles of the gravestone and the pretty shells traced the destiny of the Homeland!