My beautiful mother, serene and green
Fertile, nurturing and protective
Compassionate, brave, loving and understanding
The judge of our tribal differences
And healer of our tribal wounds
Religious civilizations you once embraced
Intellect you value not gold and diamond
Your quest for western ways a priority
The ivory tower of learning your legacy
The citadel of bureaucracy you epitomized
United we stood then for you eternal Mother,
The green, white and blue our glory.

Oh, mother, what happened to you?
Has age transformed your wisdom to ignorance?
You spectate as your children kill their mothers
And watch you values vanish
Guns, gold and diamond we now worship
Your ivory tower of learning now a pyrite tower
Your bureaucracy like Medusa eats its own
And your domicile a lidless Pandora box,
Flowing with gray, brown, red and black
Mount Aureol an active volcano
Waiting to spread its intelligent larvae.
Mother, your eyes are blood shot, Mother, Why?

Pray my children, pray, for I am weak and frail
You have turned you back on me
Your siblings like you are troubled in the head
Like hyenas, you fight to eat the rancid pork
Pray my children, pray, for I need help
I need to be strong, serene and fertile again,
Nurturing and protective for you and your offspring
Oh my children, bundle all tribes together
And in your hearts find compassion and strength
So that I may be green and gracious,
That I may be white and wiser,
That I may be blue and blissful.

Mother, I prayed as you requested
I prayed for love and unity
That you will be fertile and strong again,
That your lidless Pandora’s box produces milk and honey,
That Medusa’s head produces beautiful braids,
That your pyrite-learning tower turns to gold
Oh Mother, I saw a vision in my prayers
I saw many trees with rich green leaves
I saw all your children attired in white
I saw the blue sky in harmony with green and white
Yes, Mother, I saw you smiling in the midst of all your tribes.
Mother, please do not give up. I have hope! Hope! Hope!

Message to Kongosa

Kongosa, from your wooden bench you dictate
You see the world but do not move.
You talk about those you know and do not know
You peep through cracks, holes, dirt and mud
And quick to say, "I know and I saw."
You fat, greasy, smelly nature’s flaw
Truth like hot iron you cannot handle
So, you hide in shame and maim others.
Like a queen bee, you attract workers,
Who for honey favors beckon to your call
You pregnant hippo you spice up news
To make yourself recognize in a world that rejects you.

Lazarus, worshipper of the queen bee
Egyptian mummies have more grace than you do
You speak as if it is your last breath
Yet, joyful in your slanderous pursuits
Your skin looks like tanned hide in the sun
Greed and jealousy are your cancers.
You feast on your ineptitude
And go sleepless to feed the queen bee.
Omnipresent yet "omni-absent"
Just to say, "I know and I saw", you liar!
Kongosa, you spare no one, bee worker or the queen
For self-destruction is your goal.

"Awujoh is a tradition feast in memory of the passing of a loved one. Awujoh feasts are mainly celebrated on the 40th day anniversary and annual anniversary of the passing of a family member." - PHB

 Awujoh in Freetown

A meal for our beloved ones we see no more
Served on a plate and on the ground
An anniversary we celebrate with happy tears
With plenty to eat, to drink and to share.

Beans, palm oil stew, and rice a must,
Foo-Foo with bitters and Crain-Crain as supplements
To the needy a manna from heaven,
Served on banana leaves, cans and jars.

Vultures hover like watchdogs
Symbol of the presence of our beloved ones
They fight over the rejects of the slaughtered
And their absences a spiritual rejection.

Four half kola nuts the mode of communication.
Four open faced kola nuts a spiritual laughter
Four faced down kola nuts a spiritual anger
Two kola nuts up and two down a spiritual peace.

One by one like a catholic confession, we speak
Spiritual communion like vultures we then partake
Scrambling for spiritual leftovers, food and liquor
For a symbolic concoction not fit for a dog.

For once, green sticks grapple with gray ones
Dresses, faces and hands smeared with bright red palm oil
Everyone search for the liquor grabber,
For a sip of the trophy in the free spiritedness of Awujoh.

King Jimmy Steps

Cold steps, manhole to genocide
Monument to free black sweat and blood
You witnessed your chained sons and daughter
With blooded tears bade you farewell.

Cold, stony steps escalator for plunderers
Testament of lost fortune and culture
You witnessed armed econo-priests ascended with the holy book
And descended with shiny sparkling stones.

Cold, stony, brown steps symbol of a renegade king
Who baaed to every crack of his majesty’s whip
And draped your children in sheep’s clothing
Yet, you continued to serve them.

Cold, stony, brown, royal steps with no royalty
Your code of silence is impenetrable
Witness to De Ruiter, coups and rebel war
Yet, peaceful and quiet as a mouse.

Cold, stony, brown, royal, silent steps
Hubbub on Bullom day your delight
As high heels, slapping slippers and bare feet massage you
Into decadence and perpetual somnolence.

Cold, stony, brown, royal, silent, worn out steps
Dwelling place for your tattered and forsaken children
Maybe waiting for the ancestral royal boat
Cold steps, tell them you saw the last boat leave.

King Jimmy steps, the harsh salty breeze your companion
Scorching sun, Johnson’s spring and cold harmattan your friends
Yet, your best friends will destroy you
For the same you did to my ancestors, your children.

* Johnson’s Spring is a name given to a great downpour of rain (torrential). Bullom day is a special market day.