Virginity for Valentine - a poem by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

Disclaimer: This picture is subjected to copyright. 

On Valentine’s Day, a gift so rare,
A heart laid bare, a moment to share.
In shock, I stood, unprepared for the night,
Yet in her eyes, a flickering light.

The moans and the pain, a bittersweet song,
In the depths of love, where we both belong.
But in that embrace, a lesson unfolds,
True love is precious, not bought or sold.

In shadows cast by love's embrace,  

A gift unasked, a tender trace.  

With whispered sighs and hearts entwined,  

In passion's dance, our souls aligned.  

The ugly beauty of first delight,  

In pain and pleasure, we took flight.  

A moment raw, a bond so deep,  

In love's fierce grip, our secrets keep.   

The crimson tide, a sacred rite,  

In every gasp, the world ignites.  

With trembling hands, we crossed the line,  

In ecstasy's grip, your heart was mine.  

The taste of trust, both fierce and sweet,  

In every heartbeat, our spirits meet.  

Though shock and fear danced in the air,  

In that wild moment, nothing could compare.  

A love so fierce, it broke the mold,  

In vulnerability, our story told.  

Through moans and whispers, we found our way,  

In the depths of night, we chose to stay.  

So here we stand, in love's embrace,  

A journey begun, a sacred space.  

With every scar, a tale to weave,  

In the tapestry of love, we believe.

Author's note: 

Dear young girls, your virginity is a treasure, not a token for fleeting moments or gifts. Love should never be measured by physical acts or special days. Cherish your body and your heart; true intimacy comes from deep connection and respect, not from pressure or expectation. Wait for a love that honors you completely.

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Friends Before Lovers - a poem by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

a picture of Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe (right), with Anne (left), and Esther (middle).

  

In laughter shared, our hearts began to bloom,  

Two souls entwined in joy, a bond so rare,  

Through whispered dreams, we chased away the gloom,  

In every secret shared, we laid us bare.  

With every glance, a spark ignited bright,  

Yet friendship's warmth held passion at bay,  

We danced in shadows, veiled in soft twilight,  

Unspoken words in silence found their way.

  

But time, a thief, did weave a different thread,  

As feelings deepened, friendship turned to flame,  

In tender moments, all our fears we shed,  

And love emerged, no longer just a game.  

So here we stand, where once we dared not tread,  

From friends to lovers, hearts forever wed.

Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

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Letter to My Unborn Son

Dear Unborn Son,

In the stillness of the night, where shadows dance with whispers of dreams, I find my heart yearning for you, yet to arrive in this world. As I pen this letter, adorned with ink and tears alike, I hope to share not just my words, but the essence of my soul, a legacy wrapped in humility, love, and resilience. When a kennel of palm fruit falls into oil, it goes to his family. Therefore, when you are born in my presence, know your name and know who your father is. Muhammad is your name. 

 You are named after the holy prophet Muhammad S.A.W.; this is because I made a promise to Allah to name my child after him; this must be fulfilled. Your blood is so pure to unite Muslims around the world against the Antichrist. But his army is always looking for your father everywhere. You must firmly hold onto the Holy Quran and read it as given to me by your grandfather. I might not live long, but I have come to fulfill a promise I made to God while in my mother's womb. The peanut doesn't roast itself on fire; don't ever fear things you'll see from childhood. You have the eyes to see them—human or nonhuman, you have a calling in this world.

My name is Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe, a name that echoes through the quiet streets of The Gambia, not always for fame or applause but often as soft whispers—anointing my being as both a tormented author and a seeker of truth. My journey as a creative writer began in the vibrant hues of my childhood, a tapestry embroidered with the threads of joy, sorrow, and a persistent warfare against the unseen forces that sought to uproot me from my essence. Millions of intellectuals, men of honor and virtue have been born in this world for many years. You're not one of them. You're only a big fool. A laughingstock and a poor servant of Allah.

Throughout my life, the devil and his allies have brought forth trials that at times rendered me weary, yet I found solace in words—the balm that soothed my anxieties and gave flight to my thoughts. I have often resisted the dazzling allure of the Illuminati, cyclical whispers enticing me to sell my soul for mere fame. But you, my son, represent purity, the untouched canvas that seeks no brush of treachery. I want you to know that true artistry lies not in the embraces of the wicked but in the strength of one’s integrity.

I repeat: your name is Muhammad Age-Almusaf Sowe. Almusaf is your middle name; let the Arabs tell you what it means. At the age of 7, go to Gunjur and ask for the grave of the late Oustas Bun Jeng. Pray for him and his family. But also go to Senegal and ask for the tomb of Cheikh Ahmad Bamba. Pray for him and his family. Visit the family of Baye Niass, Serigne Babacar Sey, and pray for all of them. You must learn the Quran in Senegal first before going to Mauritania. Your destiny shall begin in Mali. You will meet your real image in Ethiopia. That is where your mission will get intense. As Menelik was to the Queen of Sheba and King Solomon, you are to Ethiopia nothing but a passing stranger. Get married there and move to Jerusalem. That is where you will meet Jesus. I repeat, you must marry an Ethiopian and must live in Jerusalem. The gates of heaven and earth await you in Israel. Read the book of Ge'ez and read everything you could find in this world. Read the Bible very thoroughly and read very well. You are not a Tijani, a Mouride, or any other sect; you are an ordinary slave of Allah who worships him alone. You are a Muslim, nothing but only a Muslim.

Just before the heartbreak came crashing in waves in 2018, I had loved deeply, only to watch that love slip through my fingers like grains of sand. The loss bore a shroud over my existence—three long years haunted by a haunting melancholia, a darkness that wrestled with my spirit relentless every night. I nearly lost my life in that tumult, yet in that abyss, a flicker remained—my pen, my refuge, my voice to reconcile the dissonance.

Upon my return to The Gambia in 2019, I was a weary young man, a traveler draped with scars and stories. Two weeks later, the ground of my being cracked once more—the gentle spirit of my mother departed. Pain piled upon sorrow, yet from the ashes of grief, I learned an invaluable lesson: life does not wait. Despite my heart seemingly drowning in dismay, I mined strength from my sadness, and I mustered a fortitude I never knew existed. The fortitude of remembering Allah-- my Lord and your Lord.

Oh, little son, I dream of the family we will forge together! More than merely a male legacy, I envision our hearts intertwined, forged in the fires of truth and compassion. Each paragraph I write is inspired by the intricacies of love—love for family, for art, and most importantly, for our bonds with the Divine. My reflections weave together philosophy and poetry drawn from the depths of religious understanding, forming a rich narrative that seeks the oneness of creation.

While I have earned respect and praise in distant lands—appreciated by those who may never meet me, your father remains unsung in The Gambia, a paradox still unexplored. Yet, I do not envy the limelight, for I find contentment in the simplicity of truth. I forgive easily, wearing kindness as my mantle, a testament to my belief that love can conquer the fiercest battles.

In my humble existence, one question lingers—where, oh loving Creator, is my life partner? In my reflections, I hope for you to carry the torch of my ink, and embrace the divine gift of writing. I want you to know that true power is not held in wealth, but in the impact one can have on another's life through words. My poetry is a weaving of my soul, rich with the essence of the human condition—reminding us that every heartbeat resonates with stories waiting to be unearthed.

As I write these lines, I can feel your energy flickering in the heather. In you, I see the continuation of my legacy—the breath of your existence kindling a fire within me, pushing boundaries and elevating the narrative of our people. My hope is that you will find solace in literature, using it as a vessel to channel your thoughts and dreams into the world.

I dream of holding you in my arms, of teaching you to write your first word, your first poem, and helping you embrace the humility and strength needed to navigate both the beauty and harshness of life. You will learn that the world is vast and complicated, filled with turmoil and grace, and that your pen can serve as a bridge between despair and hope.

As you grow, remember the power of love, my dear son. Engage with the world around you empathetically, and transform struggles into narratives that inspire others. Stand firm in your convictions and wield your words with responsibility. You may face nights long and dark, but it is precisely in those moments that the light will shine brightest. Through your writings, speak on behalf of the voiceless, transgress barriers, and know that your heart should pulse in rhythm with love and understanding.

To you, my child, I draw a map of the struggles I have known and the dreams that remain yet unfulfilled. I urge you to step into this world with eyes wide and spirit unbroken. You are a treasure, an eternally cherished being whose essence will always seek to unravel the beauty of the universe. Someday, while I may meet the end of my journey, know that I will live on through you—my hopes, my philosophies, my words living eternally within your life. 

The jinns are your servants; Satan is your enemy and all his progeny. They will hunt you everywhere from the day you are born till the day you die. You have the power to restore justice and righteousness back on this earth with the help of Jesus. He will be your helper. The whole world will see him as a madman, but you will be the first person to recognize him. He will never return on this earth as a prophet. Oh, my beloved son. Listen very carefully because my time is very limited. Worship Allah, not anyone else. Don't ever worship the Arabs and their culture and religion. There is evil everywhere in the world. Even when you run and hide inside the Kaaba, they will hunt you and bring you out to kill you. Fight in the name of Allah and die in his name. He is enough for you.

Until that glorious day arrives when you bless my life with your presence, I will continue to write, to fight against the darkness, and to pray for you while working toward the life I’ve envisioned for us. May the universe conspire in our favor. May love guide you as you journey through life, and may you always find comfort in the stories that await you. 

I want you to make enough Zikr and always follow the teachings of Muhammad S.A.W. He is your role model, and Allah is your protector. Your father's family is from Jesus, and your mother's blood is the bloodline of the prophet Muhammad S.A.W. Do not be afraid; do not fear; Allah is with you at all times. 

With all my love,

Your Father, Modou Lamin

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"Left-Eye" poem by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

Even when Rihanna sang everything to the left, 

I'm still eating with my right hand;

I understand The Gambia couldn't still find the right man.

But break, broke, broken,

Let it break.

The broken pencil still writes.

Let the donkeys brake.

Let the pastor and imam preach

There is still sex on the beach.

So you don't still know I see both Satan and the Anti-Christ?

The reason why every dog barks at me in The Gambia 

Is bcos I ain't part of the movement that derail Christ 

And praise Jesus Christ,

But hallelujah to this screaming;

Amen to this healing.

Welcome to the New Age.

In the Book of Enoch,

Chapter one, page one,

Paragraph six of 2026;

Let's turn a new page gently.

The sun has already risen from the East,

War in the Middle East;

The NBA headed to the East;

Gog and Maggot arrived with ease, 

Enough of the East!

Listen!

Expect Abraham Ibn Ashram. 

Next is the continent of Africa.

Who are you people still voting for?

Let the rest rest in peace

And the death finds peace in pieces.

"She knows, she knows,

And I know she knows,

Alright."

The real rapper defended his thesis 

It is sad to read such speeches,

Such things don't only happen in music. 

I wrote a letter to Satan,

The next morning my image was tarnished.

We've successfully burned the Quran and the Bible without burning them.

Have we not had enough agenda at the UN?

What else is my mission?

In our religion, 

When you eat beef,

Don't ask how many cows are in a steak?

We're so accommodating like a housing estate.

So, let's ask, how many cows in a steak?

Allow intellectuals continue seeing their mensuration

Until Achebe resurfaces. 

Listen,

An era of natural disasters strikes,

The planet is ours,

But before 2030,

Don't use my name in vain.

See how I turned your intellectuals into prostitutes,

Your teachers are agents of the devil;

Your parents are my enablers;

And then, I turned you and your child in the new age. 

I am the reason you worship your phone and false prophets 

The reason why every young person is tryna sell a soul.

We're all sinners in disguise,

But I made you addicted to pornography, 

Forced you to use condoms,

Drink contraceptives,

And now you're a whore.

Well done!

I'm ISIS in capital letters 

And abortion in small letters.

Listen!

I'm the devil's Bible and the sinners Qur'an 

I ran marathons in your mind;

Do you see how I'm controlling the world?  

I'm a religious crisis.

By my grace, I am the final prophet.

I influenced a generation of mobile addiction, 

Sex and dating, 

Kissing and immorality,

And flirting and hating.

Admit that I'm hateful, 

Enraged, and ungrateful.

See how I'm successfully making you learn foolishness in school

Yet, you claim to be knowledgeable?

Stupid!

Hi hater, yes I heard you talking.

Bravo, but that shit was boring.

Am I not the one who invented social media? 

Who is discrediting your profile?

Who really is the Savior of Planet Earth?

I turn your value into likes and followers,

Make your presence online, 

And reduced you to a mouse with a click on the internet.

Listen, 

I inspired a generation of boobs and big buttocks,

Alcoholism and drugs,

Dancing and shaking of asses,

Wealth and more money. 

C'mon, honey.

What y'all bitches masturbating for?

You dress indecent but don't want to be called a prostitute; 

Bitch, what's your name?

My style of writing is too harsh

I don't decorate the truth in a pavement.

Who really is the King of Saudi?

Just too supernatural to comprehend, 

But when schooling kids in kindergarten,

Teach them ABC.

Every gardener needs a crop,

But I am the apple of your eyes and your spotify children.

Should I still tell you I am the left-eye?

It's funny I'm the writer 

Every writer is tryna beat now,

Even underground writers with a big mouth.

Explanation of the poem titled "Left-Eye" written by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe.

The poem is a "sarcastic poem" written as a protestant vilification that foretells the coming of age in contemporary African and global poetry, indecisively.

It both revealed and predicted the future plans of the "Illuminati" in the coming years, and happenings across the globe. Referencing from the holy books; it exonerated the arrival of the Anti-Christ and Gog and Maggot. 

The poet, using euphemism, sarcasm, rhythmicity, innuendo and paradoxical iambic pentameter, provocatively insinuates his revolting against the secret society personally and socially.

Linking music and poetry to lyrically and intellectually disintegrate societal values, the poet begins with opening verses from a song by Rihanna, "Everything to the Left", noting that the song was evil because it praises Dajjal, the left-eye (one-eye).

The poet teaches that a certain group of people in society becomes famous, powerful, rich, and influential because of their affiliation with the Illuminati.

To schedule or book me for public lectures/ book launches/ conferences/ readings/ motivational speaking events, etc., please email: modoulaminsowe1@hotmail.com.

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You Never Loved Me - Poem by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

I am full. 

Of me. 

Blessed. 

Free. 

And.

Grateful. 

Free calls

With Africell 

Customer care

On flight mode 

Up in the air 

Do I care?

Some days,

I forget who I am

I can’t see the light 

I am lost from within 

I look around

It’s dark and vast 

Everyone is gone 

Nothing lasts 

My loving eyes,

My soft touches,

My strong, solid anchor,

Once outsourced. . .

I am left with nothing but rancor

Toss and cheers to alcohol 

I understand now that I'm misunderstood 

You don't understand me

So let me explain: 

I thought that in time what was bad would turn good

I love you from the centre of my heart 

From where the blood gurgles in its search for oxygen 

I breathe you into my soul for healing each time my heart threatens to hurt.

Aware of my victim hood

Forged in childhood

Perfected in adulthood 

Into nationhood 

I am in the hood 

For the chicken, poddles, and noddles 

Miscommunication 

Retaliation 

Resignation 

Obligation

But to what,

Sensation?

I trusted love 

I dated lies 

I kissed romance 

And hated you

Followed my course 

Leaned in

Reached out

Got back on that wench

Sit on the bench 

And drove a Benz 

Now I falter

Confused 

I refused 

The news 

Don’t know where I’m

What’s been the purpose?

What was the lesson in that?

Heartbreak 

Lies

Cheating 

Sex

And romance.

Is that all?

Every truth I believed that this world had to offer 

I question entirely 

I’ve filled up my pockets 

With theory and rationale 

Gleaned from my process

It’s dissolved into nothing, 

I’m empty.

You never loved me.

You love the money,

The fame,

And the cars.

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Man with No Friends

In the silence of the night, I weep

For a life that seems so steep

No friends to call my own

Just enemies disguised in a friendly tone

This is probably the most me I've ever been,

I'd been to places you've never been,

I've got plenty enemies among jinns and human beings,

I don't fear the sting of bees,

I'm an 'A' student and never got Bs,

I've departed:

I'm, I, was, are, were, been.

Bingo, Bissou to Binko,

Being,

Just let me be.

I'm a man with no friends

A compound with no fence

A dollar with no pence

A verb with no tense.

My success breeds jealousy and hate

As others plot to seal my fate

People pretend to help, but behind my back

They whisper words that attack

Every young person dreams to be

Just like me, so carefree

But little do they know

The weight of success, the price to show

Alone in my journey, no one by my side

As I watch my dreams slowly slide

Away from my grasp, my heart so heavy

A soul so pure, yet so unsteady

No love to warm my lonely nights

No joy to fill my empty sights

Just the sound of my own thoughts

Echoing in the silence I fought

I, a man of intelligence and grace

Struggling to find my rightful place

In a world that's cruel and unkind

Leaving me shattered, lost in my mind

But despite the pain, the loneliness and strife

I continue to fight for my life

For I know deep down inside

That my spirit will never subside

So as the tears fall from my weary eyes,

I lift my head up to the skies

And vow to keep pushing on

Until the light in my heart shines strong.

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Honeymoon (Poem by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe)

Disclaimer: Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe doesn't own this picture, and permission is therefore sought from the copyright owner.

Note: The lady in the picture is nothing to Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe apart from a friend.

We met immediately the rain stopped beating

Pompously across the Bertil Harding Highway

And the stagnant waters gathered on the road

To confidently discuss national problems...

I became your problem

When I splashed a colorful of lovely

Waters on you accidentally;

My heart stopped beating in my chest.

I apologized to you in Spanish

Ashamed and nervous;

You looked at me twice

And I looked away in hesitation.

I feel like putting a knife in my throat

And slice myself into pieces for you.

I regretted my actions and inactions

And I displayed my shame on MBC Action.

  

Dressed in African-Gambian

Purple bazin riz,

Glittering in your natural beauty

Without make-up,

Waiting for a car to pick you up,

That evening, the Ramadan departed for Jerusalem

To pay homage to the Jews.

Just like a thief escaping from stealing,

Your shoelaces fit my shoes.

Hot body, everything looks perfect like a painting.

You mute my emotions.

 

 

My instincts told me to apologize in Chinese

But destiny told me to speak of humanity

When weakness became my language.

I sigh away from eye contact

And I gave you my contact.

Looking at your toes

When I said sorry regretfully,

Biting my nails and shaking in my trembles

My nervousness donating me blood

For my heart failures.

 

Friendship grew between us

With time, we set the pace.

On the phone and in space,

It took me so long to write this poem.

Walking down the beach

With our heads bow down;

I can't look at what you can't look at in me.

Our hands are observing social distancing.

Even a car could fit between us.

I sweated a gallon of smiles.

Wanting to tell you

How I feel

 

When the keys to the door of your singleness opened

The padlocks broken,

The shops of Serrekunda market wide opened 

Proposing to you in broad daylight

Sighing from the afternoon,

Little do you know

The date lied on the calendar.

The day I put a ring in your finger

The sky tasted ginger

Kneeling before you

Humbling myself on my knees

Angels announcing our marriage up in the skies

I couldn't sleep that night

I cut myself but couldn't bleed

The sexual healing...

That feeling

When the pastor said,

"You may now kiss the bride"

I kissed all the bridesmaids

When we locked lips.

 

Waking up in Dubai

Making your breakfast

Touring the Palm hotel

And naming our kids Paul, George,

and George-Paul.

I woke up in New York City 

Looked at myself in bed

And realized it was a dream.

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Blood of a Virgin: A Poem by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

Photo credit: Suri   man of Ethiopia drinking  blood

Cheers for the cup of blood we tossed

Together with Satan

The night before we killed a prophet

And separated a man from his wife;

It was the evening before we told nations

To write the 'age of 18' in their constitutions

The morning a president sacrificed his own son

Bitten by an unknown dog to die in our kingdom

For his rule without wisdom,

Weighing his sins on the wings

Of a demon

From the Manding Empire to the Vatican:

He looked into the eyes of death

And took off  his mask

Exchanging lips with the daughter of the Antichrist;

Sucking her nipples

Like a physiotherapist

Assigned to an all-important job,

Marinating the blood of a virgin

With salt and margarine

To acquire more money,

More power and fame...

Learning dangerous lines from the devil

Receiving remedial classes from Lucifer

To destroy the Bible and the Quran;

The eyes of men in lust and love

For presidents who respect us,

Countries that obey our leaders,

We declare them winners.

I play with violence

You play with me; you're nosier than silence

Children, I can't wait to kill them

I'm more haram than Boko Haram

I smuggled cocaine in kilograms...

I've been in the dope business

Since Africa didn't sell,

The poets were children,

And Aristotle wasn't taught by Horace.

What is this nonsense you speak?

I recognize every member of the Illuminati.

I am destined for greatness and chill with the hatred

I support God like Adam and Eve combined.

I have been watching you from afar

Looking for virgins like some crude oil,

But I strongly believe in Allah

And I don't need your wealth and fame!

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