The Sierra Leone Web

  Emmanuel Joseph is a poet who has tutored his fellow ages for university requirements, a motivational youth, inspirational writer and an activist. He is heading a poetry group of his fellow poets. He has been inspired by great authors like Oumar Farouk Sesay, Gbanabome Hallowell, and Nadia Maddy, who personally recognised his writings. He is currently pursuing his degree in Politics at Fourah Bay College (USL) . He is planning to bring out his first collection of poems at the end of 2019.  


We Are Still Here

We are still here
Wiping the tears
You left in our eyes
These droplets now a Nile
Flooding the depth of our souls
Drenching the blood in our vains
Now, furnace of heat burns beyond our thoughts
We are still Here
Wrapped in the satin of Satan
Clothed in the satin of your pains
We are still here
On this place of your broken hopes
The land that your blood drenched
That has gored our hearts with its horns
Thumping between the piles of our hearts
Like a rock on the head
We are still here
On the trapdoor of slavery
Your quest for freedom left a quench for slavery
Freedom of chains!
We are here
Taunted by those who taunted you
Tripping the mindset of us your posterities
We are where you were
Cultivating the greenfarms of dried leaves
The withered farms you left
And us withering like the lilies in Timbukutu
Our days has been cut short with darkness
And the night of terror dreams
We are here with your pains
Roaming to pains our hearts


I Want To Be Alone

I want to be alone
Alone and among the deprived
Slum dwellers in My land
I want to be alone
In the sierra
Of Sierra Leone
In loneliness like a
Humbled Sierra Leonean
Let me be alone
For once in a life time
To wipe the flooding tears
On the visage
Of my motherland
That has left me a sleepless nights
Let me be alone
In taking Africa back
To her green forlage of greenery harvest
Alone i want to be
Decreasing the painful cresedo cry
Of Sierra Leone
I want to be alone
On the poems of africanism
Holding a dirge for all to dance
I want to be alone
In the glade of the forest
Providing medical herbs
To heal the wounds of Africa
The man made ponds left by
The strangers
I want to be alone
As a true image of God
To love without discrimination
I want to be alone
On the songs of Freedom
And as a cresedo to their hailing happiness
I want to be alone
Just alone
Alone i want to be.


The Lone Motherland: Kono

In vigor i strode
Like a drunkard in drunken stupor
Drunk with puzzling thoughts
Across oceans of tears
On whirl winding wilds.
Striding on a lone motherland
On her wounds left uncovered
On debris of piling stones
Grimacing me in painful look
For her tears flooding in brooks.
In lone i cried
On wilds of drenching blood
And oodles echoing a cacophony
From a site uncovered with dead youths
For their match against the trespassing realm
Trespassed by races of evil image
With engines crushing the membrane in the air
And caterpillars digging green foliage to be droughted
Poverty amidst mineral resources!
I strode in loneliness
In puddles of a her earth crust
Dug by men seeking for diamond
Lone as i walked
With pangs for my motherland
Among nomads of broken limbs
Limbs broken by men- at- war
On wars of senseless revolution
The war that defined our fate to nothingness
The fate of sad tomorrow
The tomorrow with sad posterity
The posterity of nomadic mindset
The mindset inherited from the gray
The gray of polluted minds
Polluted by unproductive development
I strode with tears on the creeks
Among children feeding on reefs
With their hope in terror dreams
Lone in striding steps
On creeks made by her suckling children
On a green land of dried leaves
A land left with nothing for the posterity to feed
This foliage they turned to sandy wilds
From greenery harvest to toil cultivation of nothingness
I strode and cried
Seeing the land being destroyed
And blood being dreanced
By those know to be her children
Leaving nothing for the posterity to see
And mothers sleeping hungrily amidst cold in the cost
And fathers left in griefs
The griefs maiming my mind


Evil Hustling

"Partially a den of thieves
Partially a gambling den
Partially a fetish shrine...."
(The Cementry by Oumar Farouk Sesay)

Face clothing with cadaverous garments
Around the den of
Sleeping souls
Smothering to yawn a rich flavour
Fighting to be rich on cadavers
On Circular path cementry.
Abled body men sitting on curbs
Embracing concepts of evil spiritism
Curbing their hopes on the satin of Satan
Living on misinterpreted dreams
Dreams dreamt in drunken stupor
and interpreted on embers of cannabis.
Hustling on realms of the dead
With bear hands diging the remains;
maybe a command of political quest,
maybe for selfish interest,
maybe a command of spiritism,
maybe an order from above thrones...
Faces of grimacing looks
Bad souls of God's image
On a land of broken hopes
In a sanctuary called Kono
a place of poor ruling
And in a free couch called Freetown
a town of evil dwellers
The regions of bloody hustles
Hustling on God's image
slaying people like rodents of no sovereignty
These places once the Eden of God's grace...!


Echoes From the Grave

(for a girl that was killed by her father in Kono district for reasons unknown)

"Grieving the death of yesterday,
and the fearful beginning of a new today,"
(The Mournful Dove by Zach Hanlon)

Echoes roaming like sea waves,
on spoken words of soundclouds,
for her days being laid unrest
and her justice been kept in pockets,
crushing minefields of the earth,
ebbing volcano to crush my heart.
Her lone spirit tides,
with pain that ebbs
for her smiles buried in sepulchre,
and carrion skin left with vultures. The echoes that strides
along the Mississippi of mud,
a pain enough to drought oceans.
Her soul yawns for justice,
tears drop echoing her grief,
pitter pattering on hills,
on landscapes of memories.
An echoes from the grave brings
a rue of eternity on her sire,
for her body he tore
like pork on plates,
it trembles in pain
leaving a curse on the land
for her justice been drenched,
in depths of running waterfalls,
that leaves a dirge ,
echoing on graves of her remains



(dedicated to all the women around the globe on World Women's Day)

Pitter pattering feet
around the world they matched
folding hands in togetherness
under clouds of painted amity
in citidal of ethnicity
In a row they strode
striding with echoes across
on terra Firma of deprived rights
echoing the cresedo of the silent
wailing, yelping in vigor
for their body we turned to drums
and the love turned to horns
and caring turned to rebellion
They matched with an applause
against disenfranchised franchise
crying for the lost dignity
pride,dreams, hopes we buried
in sepulchres of selfishness
As they matched with teardrops
flooding in the ocean of their eyes
overwhelmed i was
with regretful memories
within my living memory
in the depth of my soul
to take back my missing ribs
and give her the deserved dignity
and pride i lost
buried in a lost forgotten days

The Abandoned

(Dedicated to the deprived children and street beggars in Sierra Leone)

There they feed
On the husks
Of the Sandy shores
Left to be drawn by ebbs.
They lie
On the reefs
Grieving in flooding tears
The night inhale the pains
For the sunlight to bring
Another sorrow.
Abardoned they walk
With hope of dying embers
Siting on the curbs
Of the street
Gesturing their hands
For grace to
Fill the basket.


My Poems

(Dedicated to a mentor, Peter Andersen)

On a glooming day of the sunset
Your mail Spewed me a smiling thought
Leaving me an etched smile
dancing on my ego
My Poems sang a quest song of Publication
That left a respect for my posterity to offer to you
That left a blessing
For your posterity to see
Within the lines of my poem



(Inspired by a poem of the same title written by Oumar Farouk Sesay)

We're gathered here
From the sierra of Sierra Leone
Like Sierra Leoneans
Where your dreams for togetherness once dwelled
From different homes of one threshold we came
And from different clans of one household we aim
To proceed the toil of your narrow nights
And to mend the wounds of your daily fight.

Here, all standing in row
And chiefs with their rods
And the poor with the poverty
And poets with genres of poetry
We stand
Sheltered in the satin of your dreams
Maimed with your pains
sound with your silence
and free with your freedom,

We brought ornaments of liabation for your souls;
for your dreams you left uninterpreted,
for your wounds you left to be mended,
for the hate you yawned to be loved,
for the slavery you quested to be free,
and for the austerity you left to be in posterity.

Your pains summoned us together,
and your spirit calls for spiritism
and to incarnate in the spirit of Ma-dengn.
So we are Here
to be rich with the debris of your love
to beat the drums of lullaby songs
to be drawn with the victory of your wars
to be nourished with the greens of your toil harvest
That has fed the nymphs in the sierra.
We are here sir Milton Margai
With pots of oil to dance the songs you sang on independent day
We are here Bai Burreh
to pour liabation to your spirit
For the war you waged against those claiming to own the land
We are here Madam Yoko
To drought the tears you left flooding in our eyes
Here we are Kai Londo
With the spirit of Ma-dengn
To rest you spirit from the war you won
We are here Pa Demba, Wallace Johnson, Dale Modu,
To inhale the air of life breeding in your breath
to pour liabation on the scar of your souls
to wipe the tears
That has left a poetry written on the tubular of our minds
We are here
To fulfil your quest quenching for unity
And to reunite the unity left fading
Here we are
Peter Andersen, Oumar Farouk Sesay, Elizebeth Kamara, Gbanabom
Halowell, Winston Ford ,Nadia Maddy and i
With the poetry you left unwritten on the embryo of the posterity
We are Here;
with dreams of one interpretation,
and a quest of one victory,
and poems of one theme.
Again we are here
with the ocean of your tears
with the cresedo of your laughter
in one spirit to you spirit in the spirit of Ma-dengn.


Her Looks

(Dedicated to Drucilla Charles)

I'm lost of words
in the asymmetrical globe
of her glimmering eyes
Glimmering with sparkly gross
Engulfing me with passion
Freezing me in smiling tears
Like snow in glowing lilies
Her plumbing lips like a rose
In a glowing day of the sun
Echoing a melody to rhyme a song
I'm lost of words in my striding walk
Like a lone wanderer
Lost in the abysses of space
in the depth of oceans flooding in her eyes
I'm lost on her looks
Like dying embers fading in space
I'm lost on words
on her splendor looks
Like angels in imaginable dreams
The look of which i seek.


Along the Nile

Dreams flooding in the Nile. Across
ocean of burning flames
lying in bowels of hell
climbing mountains of despairs. In
my vision i see us no tomorrow
happines will be in exile
if togetherness yet to grow. The
dreams that will breed on legacies
and lace us like breeding organisms.

In this desert of dried leaves
dreams of tomorrow's smile, will
stream in furnace of hell
taking realities along Niles
leaving coral reefs
as interpretations to our
ignorance. Along
the Nile of prosperity
will only bring us good harvest, in
Milton Margai's horror dreams
if all hands will cling to the
the embryo of love,
peace, togetherness
breeding with our ancestral souls
along the Nile of the sierra.


On An Exile For Evergreen Farms

Broken dreams
metamorphosing into foolishness
Ephod of hopelessness they worn
Clawed in claws mentality
dreams stripped from its realities
on a safari across ocean
of burning flames
left in the depth of medittarian
Crooked ideology of crooked odyssey
bowed under the weight of poverty
from terra firma of buried upgrowth
to an abode of slavery
Assemblage youths
with Chattels on boat
trespassing realms
escaping the scorching ambience
of Africa
denying responsibilities to cultivate the little at hand
to a place patriarchal toil toiled
Like swallowing birdies looking for evergreen wilds
On the voyage of becoming rich
across plethora of narrowed ways
abandoned mothers,children left
on the ebb and tides of the sea
echoing their exile for evergreen farms