Letter to the Poet
Dear poet,
With these single touches from my lonely ink,
Which my hunger papers, I couldn't stop, licks up, I write to you all!
In our figurative world many are not ready to live,
But our pens are ready to write the things in our minds as we breathe!
Let use our dictions to give information,
Like things that could change our nations, emotions and positive expressions to the unseen!
They will never dance to our cracking voices forget it,
Their ears feel they are judge, wrong, loved and lost by our unseen expressions so they reject it!
Let come as one, tell our busy world, call them to see and feel,
Our falling emotions changing their nations they will want to listen!
Now I would conclude my letter with laughing tears,
Till will meet, change and share our feelings in our inner heart and let the world see our words are us!
Hard Facts
We all know our country is sick,
With a disease that just can't be heal!
We all know Sierra Leone is Corrupt,
And have lost it discipline!
The smooth path to our destiny,
Have turn into layers of dust,
Our constitutional laws we can no longer trust!
How can one man eat from a plate made of gold?
Store all the million dollars in their greedy soul..?
How can them not see or feel,
The cry of the people on street,
As they ride on their luxurious cars,
Splash tasteless waters on their dry lips..??
No better roads for our feet to communicate,
When it night....!!
Our eyes couldn't see the light.
The economic system needs to be updated,
Our love ones are dying,
No proper equipment or treatment to save them.
The minds of our children reject,
The poor educational system they try to present.
Jobless youth....!
Hustling hard on the street so they can eat,
"Bra u borbor dae..." are the usual words they speak!
"Broda u dae make..." In return for some money!
With all the riches our ancestors left us,
Yet we are captaining the list of the poorest countries.
No one should hide under the eagle's wings,
Let them pay for their crimes.
No one should go free,
Let give justice the chance to breathe freely.
Then the change we seek,
Will start to breathe!
My Sister's First Drop of Blood
At the age of eleven (11)..!!
My sister saw her first drop of blood,
A drop of maturity and motherhood that her body was never prepared for.
A drop that change the looks of her body in the eyes of the hungry wild beast,
That I've locked up in cages even before she was born.
That day, she became weak like a horse on a journey with no food to eat or water to drink.
Her bones and every life within her soul were unable to speak words to our mother.
I looked deep into her eyes as the pain of maturity drops slowly and slowly.
Her lips couldn't speak out the questions her mind could not answer.
"Why the drop of blood,
Why my bones can't speak words?
Why the pain,
And why everything seems different in me?"
We cover her Shame with white clothes.
Hoping the next day there will be no drops.
We try to feed her mind with words of courage and advice from different voices.
Day after days!
And night after nights!
She wrote her pains with different inks on our family wall,
Hoping that this drop of hers will stop!
Month after months!
And year after years!
She hopes this drop of hers won't destroy her future.
And we hope our words will grow and produce fruit for her future to feed on.
A drop I have never seen!
A drop that will never heal!
Until her face start to sink!
A drop every female teenager should speak of,
A drop of menstruation not those from different cuts,
A drop of maturity and motherhood!
Outcast
All the tears from the past still drops,
Our ancestors cried with different voices.
The pain in our heart won't just be washed,
They are forgetting we are not poor,
Blessed with different cultures,
They tried to kill our young ones,
Thinking that we will fail our ancestors,
Barefooted we circumnavigated this world,
Our lonely streams stop to run,
But the bigger fish continue singing,
Our beautiful hut start to lick,
With corruption and thieves,
As the sun kisses our black skin,
The calabash was filled with groundnut and garri,
The children with axe to spilt the dry woods,
Strong men ready to hunt for some food,
As the golden moon start to shine,
So the talking drums play all night,
Some could be dancing!
Some could be crying!
Some listening to unrealistic stories!
Our eyes couldn't even think of sleep,
AS this was how African life use to be,
The organic material that used to give life to the earth,
But today we are no more,
And have stopped dancing to our drums,
We embraced the western culture,
This is the cause of our downfall,
We now see ourselves as strangers in our mother land AFRICA!
Voiceless Voices
Many voices could wish to be rich,
Free from deadly disease and walk among elite,
Last night those same painful voices called upon me,
In their crying tone on a lonely street passed by many,
My emotions wanted to run but trapped by their voices,
So I stopped and listen to their endless stories one by one,
As they told me their stories, I looked deep into their eyes and saw their tears were in harmony,
I took my first step close trying to read their wounded lips,
"Just a help so we can live with our dreams in our sleep"
Were the exact words written on those lips.
Some voices wanted to see the things from the beginning
Talk about the long awaiting stories and walk freely
With no judging spirit from the public! |
Crusifixion of Nature
Nature was the perfect gift given to us by God,
A gift with no price tag but with instructions to care and to love,
Yet we destroyed the beauty of the face we once yearned for!
Nature could no longer speak of its beauty,
Its trees can no longer perform its duties,
Its root has been uprooted and leaves cut down for different purposes.
The air we breathe, Cause the life's of our young ones to be sick!
The sun will pour hate of revenge on us,
We will cry like new born babies,
Its heat will be like the stove from our mother's kitchen,
All the animals we once loved will stop breathing!
"My eyes are in pain,
I wish I could breathe in seeds of change,
I wish the sun from the east could bring some rain,
Rain that won't wash off my nutrients and the beauty of my face"
The soil speaks in pain!
I can't swim nor sing,
My seeds will never grow old with me,
My scales are weak not strong to protect me,
From the chemicals from your factories
One day you will come back home with empty nets,
I would have transformed and disappeared into the shores of the sea,
Your soul will be of regret!
Let us change this mindset of ours,
Then nature will live with us and our young seeds
The birds will sing!
Colorful flowers our eyes will see!
Fruits of different kinds our lips will kiss!
We will breathe in the air we once breathe!
And live the life we have always lived!
The Voice of the Trashcans
I can save your pocket not to fall,
If only you could listen to the cry of my voice when I speak,
Don't dump me of the street,
Check if I could be recycled to something of need,
Cause my positive sides many fail to see!
Diamonds could be made from m,
Expensive things your eyes can't buy,
Maybe my soul will provide.
I will not just bring income,
But purified air for your soul to breath!
The plant will grow branches,
The fishes won't just swim but sing,
Jobs will be available for many youths,
Your cities will be clean and safe from disease!
I was not born with a price tag,
A sign of worth and value to be reused,
Your actions towards me were really the cause,
Why your land can no longer breathe but pause!
Why the fishes stop to speak with the sea!
Why the insect and rats which are not my seed,
Are causing your fruit to be sick!
Hustlers
Hustlers don't sleep when the day start to sink,
They work hard just for their future to breath.
Their faces like the village drums that stop to produce beat,
But in their heart the hiding treasure the world couldn't see they keep!
Hustlers, don't wait for the clock to talk,
They have no time to change their cloth but will ask you to buy their stock.
They will be on the street at night selling their pride,
Different smoke stuck in their minds,
Lips drowned with different win, they forget to think about their life!
Hustlers, think money is the perfect fruit life produces.
They wish to fly with riches and prestige,
Drive big cars and big houses to sleep.
But their wish was never written
They try to take speculative!
I Still Recall
My mother voiceless pain could recall the tears the doctor created.
In their white apparels they gather around with no hast
But playing their game of perfection to save this day,
In their silent voices my mother could read their lips,
But couldn't see and wish for me to breathe.
In my own world, I was not ready at all to be born strong,
Cute with little eyes of visions and ears to listen to these falling nations!
In my own world, I was ready to fight the day and create the change and be free from you all,
I still recall the kisses from a far and the different touch and wish for this unknown world,
I still recall, the nurses that instruct my mother to push me harder from my comfortable world.
Not forgetting the one with the talking knife to cut off the connection, I still do recall!
I was surprise that I was born and couldn't even say a word,
But just watching those smiles like it was fun,
I was surprise that I couldn't even walk,
Cause my mission for this life was to be the one!
Today!! Tomorrow! I will always recall.
For this unknown world treated me as one!
Perfect Gift
You gave me a gift that couldn't open but start to follow within,
When I write the things my mind couldn't keep,
The world never seems to understand those hidden feelings.
When I write the things my tears couldn't speak,
The world skips it for something not educating.
I didn't asked my ancestors to give me their gifts,
I asked my mind to search within and it was breathing,
I didn't stop my ink not to touch my fading words,
I try to stop those feelings that drop in a poetic form but never work!
Never Too Late
If only you could answer the questions from the wounded lips,
Rejected because of your greed!
If only you could take the medications we give,
Our system will be free from corruption.
We didn't expect you to spread your wings,
Feeding on the resources in store for our kids!
If only you could take your corrupted eyes from the plate,
Outside the window you will see people in pain.
If only your heart would allow our bitter tears to flow like the rivers,
If only you could touch and feel our pain, we could be eating from the same plate.
How do you expect our future to be like?
When you have taken all the space,
How do you expect us to dream?
When you are the reason why we couldn't sleep!
It never late....!!
You can still stop the pain
It never too late....!!
Try and be the reason for the CHANGE!
Haiku Poem
Whenever I speak poetry,
My soul always smiles with peace!
Whenever I don't am sick. |
Samuel Prince Moody was a commercial student of the Prince of Wales Secondary School and the only commercial poet at that time. He proceeded from there to the university [IPAM], studying business administration and entrepreneurship. He first started writing poems at age 18. When he started writing, his friends laughed at him ,but that didn't stop him from writing. He is a cofounder of Africa Poetry Society-APS SL and Executive Director of Generational Leaders of Sierra Leone [GenDer-SL]. Writing poetry is now in his DNA, and he would love to change this world with his poetic talent and skills.