Poetry

16 Years Later

16 years later

a mit dɛm na di sem ples we dɛm bi kam lɛf mi

Fritɔŋ Lunge Airport

as a kɔmɔt na di plen, e, a de fil ɔt

so a de drink bɔku wata, a nɔ de ask how much

ɔl mi anti ɛn ɔnkul dɛn se Abu na yu dɔn big so

bɔt dɛn ɔl stil luk di sem lɛk se na yɛstade a go

16 years later

ɔl dɛn pikin dɛn fes luk jɔs lɛk mi

sem nos ɛn chikbon with melanin slightly richer

dɛn nɔ wande si mi bifo bɔt dɛn ɔl de kɔl mi ɔnkul

16 years later

ɛvri mɔnin ɔf ɛvri de

ɔlman de grit ɔlman lɛk se wi na fambul

ivin we di san ɔt, a nɔ de si bɔku lɔng mɔt

‘padiman aw di bɔdi?’

a sam, tɛl gɔd tɛnki

16 years later

ɔl sɔm man dɛn gɛ fɔ it na bred ɛn bɔta

bɔt ɛvri salon man stil gɛt wetin i fasin

sɔm dɛn lɛk uman-lapa, sɔm dɛn lɛk bita-kola

sɔm man dɛn sabi sing we di ɔmɔle dɔn waka

LXG bin tɛl wi se, kaki nɔ to lɛda

bɔt stil dɛn bebi dɛn sabi chɛr am

16 years later

di slogan dɛn na di sem

tide fɔ yu, tumara fɔ mi

minɛŋ o, munɔŋ o, sabanɔ

Sierra Leone, na wi ɔl yon,

una mek wi ep wisɛf for improve Sierra Leone

mi fambul dɛm a no se, chariti bigins at om

so no mata usay a go, a nɔ go fɔgɛt mi salon

wɛlintin, kalba- tɔŋ, bay nyu rod ɔ ol rod

if wi de go wɛstɛnd, wi tek wilkinsin rod

Aberdeen, Lumley, wi kɔntri so lɔvli

16 years later

Taxi drayva stil wan olɔp mi chenj lɛk se a sabi dem

ɛn layt de stil kam ɛn go, lɛk dɛn JC dɛm.

Abu Yillah is a Sierra Leonean Filmmaker, Poet and Photographer based in London.


To Live

A twist

A knot tightened

And then, a gentle breeze

Hibiscus flowers and yellow Roses sway in the wind

The sky clears

A brilliant blue, reassuring, promising

Reminiscent of morning dew.

Colors dance in the sun

Orange, lilac, yellow, green

A soft stream sings ...foaming at the seam

Crabs crawl

A frog skips

Palm Trees gracefully lean towards the sparkling sea

The tides turn and the waves swish and swoosh, crashing into the pale yellow shore

A loosened cord, a lone mango tree

She walks away

Free.

Ngozi Cole is a writer , living in Freetown, Sierra Leone


I Am The Sierra Leone

I am the Sierra Leone that collared a tripping mouthed stranger

whose intoxication challenged my existence before his arrival

O' how he aroused the sentries watching over my fathers' land

whose thunderous growls must have sent him back to the coast

I am the Sierra Leone whose belly is home to to a thousand treasures

adorning a suit of resilience, I splash in exotic waters of patience

and laze on beaches paved with marble sands under the Sierra sun

a picture of queenly flair to all who graze upon my lush greens


I am the Sierra Leone that birthed the Senghe Pieh's heart

of defiance and will to live or die fighting for a right to live

one whose humanity was shipped away on high seas of slavery

to feed the lowliness of colonialism through gullets of racism


I am the Sierra Leone that nursed and taught the Davidson Nicols

of this world, to grace the Halls of the Great Athens of West Africa

whose apparel of glory left to dive, shall fly again in the African skies

for ours is a people with a vision to mark our handprints in history

I am the Sierra Leone where the 'Yokos'

of every generation

dance to the traditional drumbeats of virtue and pride of womanhood

amid deafening citations of high infant and maternal mortality

while the shadow of morbidity stubbornly lingers around our homes


I am the Sierra Leone that an eleven year conflict and carnage

left behind to rise from the shambles of past mistakes, to sing

with one voice that never again shall we swim in rivers of our own blood

just because our voices are stifled by voices stronger and powerful.

Samuella Conteh is a writer, poet and human rights professional from Sierra Leone.

Opposites

I am a soft flower

A pink bud

Plush petals

Covered in gentle dew

Under a blue sky

Little wisps of clouds

Fly by

Chased by the gentle cool wind

You are harsh

Like an emotion

Like a story

Told around the bonfire of Ananse and his antics

I absorb your negativity

Shocked, I find you ridiculous

You wound yourself

And in your wounding

Wounding me

I have been dreaming of rescues

By a prince who comes to kiss me

And you have been dreaming

Of dominating and tapping that

Adding notches to your bedpost

To show your bedfellows

Your proud scores

We are both stupid.

Rosaline Johnson is a poet, singer and law graduate from Sierra Leone.

Harmattan

how does one go back to the cold after seeing the sun?

too often we forget that the light casts shadows

and that her rays do burn sometimes

and her beams blind as they illuminate

that the devil is an angel too


sweet little devil with the broken halo

kissed me lonely and let me go

sweet little devil with the broken halo

kissed me lonely and made it so

how does one go back to the cold after seeing the sun?


after feeling her rays spill on me like the rain

after hearing her lips spill out my name

after tasting the sweet bitterness of her kiss


she smiled like the rain

don't ask me how.

but it washed over you,

it took you over.

i always find myself writing about her smile.


she was a poet's wet dream;

one could never capture her essence on paper.

but something about her compelled you to try.

so every now and again i find myself trying to do justice to the way how she brought out the sun.

the way she laughed made a man desire to change his life's mission -

'cause surely there could be no higher calling than making sure those bursts of heaven came in steady supply.


and i find myself rambling sometimes

whenever she deigns to trespass upon my state of unconsciousness

because for all her magic, she is not welcome here anymore


how does one go back to the cold after seeing the sun?


I've since been trying to figure this out

but i do not know how to not need her

i have never been one for moderation


i do not fall

i plummet

i do not bleed

i hemorrhage

this liquor burning through my belly holds no answers 

this burning in my lungs solves nothing 

pale imitations of the sun do not suffice it seems

how does one go back to the cold after seeing the sun?

I do not know.



but you left...

...and it's been cold here ever since.

Tarik Ali is a musician, writer and poet from Sierra Leone