The Scars of War
Dedicated to the people of the Amputee Camp in Freetown

I feel an itch on my nose tip
I pout my lips and blow upwards.
I cannot reach and scratch the itch,
The Scars of war reminding me.
When looking down I cannot see
from elbow down to fingertips.
It is now coming back to me.
The trip along the trodden path,
The blow, the pain, the curst blackness.
And waking up in disbelief,
That war can bring such pain and grief.
The Scars of war are all I see.
When now it rains its pain I feel
And when it shines it sure is real
that now I cannot help myself
Nor do the normal things in life.
I sit and wonder why its true
The Scars of war can alter you.
The Scars of war! the Scars of war!
Is war such thing worth fighting for?

My Mother

Whose tender hands will hug me close
whose precious lips with kiss divine
whose lovely voice will soothe my soul
whose salty tears will ease my pain
whose face will share a smile with mine
who will be there to hold my hand
who will be there to lay me down
who will be there to feed my face
who will be there to egg me on
who will be there to share my gain
when will I ever pay my dues.
If I should only learn to do
All that she ever taught me to
Then will I always live to love,
MY MOTHER.

The Roaming Wanderer

I wake up and ponder "where am I?"
Or is it "where was I?", or "where to now?"
My daily search for what? and where?,
My daily questions when? and how?.
My trek across the many seas
the barren lands, the forest trees.
Has yielded naught so far. Oh well!
I cannot stop, I will prevail.
I do not know but I will win.
What? you may ask, I wish I knew,
I'll wander on, I will not fail.
My quest for what, when, where and how?
Is somewhere o'er the ho-ri-zon.
So on and on and on I go
thru sun and rain and sleet and snow.
I am so close yet far away
I walk by night and sleep by day.
It seem so near but now I know:
I AM GOING HOME.