The Motherland By Roland Charley The early morning dew blankets the motherland. Vapours condensed, crown tips Of the grassland, rivers and mountains. Like a Samurai’s sword decapitating With a single solid stroke, Proud Merry crickets chirrup, shrill and loud; Piercing the serenity Lives plunge in the cacophony Of the new day; Of pain, Of misery, And hope that never was; Of peace Intensely desired; yet eludes The decade of butchery and rapes; Of fear Of hunger, Of lies Of treachery, Of corruption Of arsons, Where do we go from here? Rebels, men, women and children; Killing Looting Raping Maiming The wicked soul excels But damned Bluntly designing Sleeves off body tissues Short, long and freestyle Little children Plundered, Violated; Watered with sick killer semen. Survival is key; Impersonality thrives The family circle? A cesspool of incest. Like the timeless evergreen Cotton Tree Geriatrics famished and wasting Snooze the time away, resigned. Crying sick children, weak and hungry, Bury their sorry faces in wasted limbs. Hungry noisy flies patiently await The vampires still to feed yet Even on the last lifeline. Wasted mothers Void of nutrients, Digests the scenery, And see the children expire. The glorified Warriors They act like rebels; They are rebels. They grab your wife, Your home Property. Fraternity is no more. Brother executes brother. No longer his brother’s keeper They sheepishly play GOD With our lives, With our children, With bombs and pipes, That smokes and bellows. Narcotics buoy their belief. Of invisibility, An instruments of power, Of indoctrination Into immortality They become Warrior children Like a haze of smoke, The smells of death coagulate the air. Bodies everywhere Bloated, Burnt Grinning Ruptured Venting pungent odours It is feeding time Scavenger birds glide Gracefully in the wing Patiently But surely. The vultures descend Slowly Gleefully. Hey! Hold on a minute, Where are all our children gone? Can someone please tell me what’s happening? We live with the smell, Wake with the smell And die with the smell. The high and mighty The twisted ones at the pinnacle of greed To ransom hold the country, The people and their riches. Poor people, Welcome the peace makers But they loot, Kill, Infect Make babies too. We are murdered Mutilated for freebies Awake, brothers and sisters, No more sleep, sleep no more Let’s all employ the patriotic hand Persevere to hold on to the end, To regain ours, our very own Of that which belongs to us all. Shout from the highest heights Let every lip proudly utter The old patriotic cry In the land of iron and diamonds, ”Firmly united, ever we stand, Land that we love our Sierra Leone”.
Posted on: Fri, 24 Oct 2014 02:06:49 +0000
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