The cremation of a billion-year guru

Strange things happened in the folding nights to his cremation

Men rallied and women cried in their bits to foam the last sway

The trails, hurriedly patched while the world waited to see his last dust

The lights seized shinning the paths

Papers torn and inks spilled in the meandering springs

And the cremation seemed thin

The horde orchestrated night clambake,

The outfit waddled the courtyards

And priests veered the sunken artery

All, but to halt the unforgiven pyre of a billion-year captain.

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By men hoping to plug the last purview

But nature stood deviant that he is cremated in midnight or limelight.

The savoir-faire have blanket avowal

That would run your blood numb

But all the world wanted, is the cremation of the billion-year tycoon,

And today, this cold Saturday, we isolated his shy remains into the same sea he ousted his gourmets.


Our chosen sword

It is said that time is limitless but our long day finally surrendered.

Saturdays will always come, but blooms wither differently

Sons and daughters, we fought differently:

Some held swords, wires and others a tip of a pen

We scribbled differently and sang in different tones

But our strains, our stanzas, our whacks were never different

We mated in a proposition.

And in our palms is the sprig.

Sons and daughters, it is said that time is immortal but our bit is to oar inland;

Our zoo, today, is not to tear, tirade or trash but to strive and work and pray,
that all may live in unity, freedom and peace each day.
Our hands and hearts tied to our backs, towards the common good.
Sons and daughters, let’s swallow our fat; pledge our firm allegiance and renew our promise;
Fight for our warrant, irrespective of our diverse people and thoughts.

A nation is born

Dawns had been long and weary-

Twenty-two years dissipated

Marred by shifty pounding of our remaining brains;

Daily rapes of our fervent flowers

And the unceremonious hikes of our daily bread.

Today, a nation is born from our strenuous strives.

They said the camels we had are barren

And wildy, we searched for the fertile youth

But it wondered farer from our trestle.

Never had we stopped wandering through the showering heat.

Finally the new nation is in our worried palms-

An egg facing a rash rock japping in our backyard;

a rosy garden coated with fusty quills.

From birth, most of us had chanted the sacred song:

For The Gambia our homeland,

We strive and work and pray…

But never had it come that cheap,

Babies grew to the wild children of social media

who strayed in the streets hunting for the last coins,

Some brewed green tea in unending terms

And others eddied in the howling waves of the Atlantic.

But the new day never came swiftly as anticipated

Rather, it came with costs beyond our earnings;

It came with tears that flooded our river;

And unending nervousness to our weak populace.

But today, we have a lofty dawn,

Thick clouds shadowing the course,

And days ahead full of dismay.

Comrades, split the colanut

A nation is born from our union

And today is the last we have to guard

No matter how costly it might lead us to sweat.

The youths are hopeful about the next pantry

They will not be uncultivated but to help pad the eager nation.

A contradiction of smiles

We had waited, waited in a keg, clouded by hairy heat,

The sun melting our rancid faces and no scarf needed to wipe the sweat

For the river went dry.

We never moved away, but moored to the torpedo

Silently, with our ‘maslaha’, we endured the pain, only for a smile.

We waited and waited, and our skins got drier than a lizard’s

Our throats dried out, our trunks elongated, crying for the lost parole

The eyes without tears; all shed along the unending journey.

We never moved away, because we ought not to empty the kraal

We waited for two decades, just to get the first smile on our faces

And today it came, amidst all the odds: anger, frustration and shallow fear.

We smiled, tried to laugh but you want to tether us again

You rant, especially on Fridays

And today, you try to smile, but do you think you can snare us with your mug;

After baptizing us in sleepless nights with fitful thoughts.

We will tell you that you can’t coax us anymore

Our smile, this kismet is our blood and we will lump the contradictions of smiles.