"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.

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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.

© All Rights Reserved! Thank you for reading and following my blog. Should you wish to use any of my articles for research, lectures, personal use, etc., kindly address your message to: modoulaminsowe1@hotmail.com. 

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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Blood of My Forefathers (a poem by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe)

Should Gambians not forgive Jammeh?

If forgiveness isn't humane,

Why is Donald Trump not jailed?

If overstaying in power makes you a dictator,

Why is Queen Elizabeth not a dictator?

I know y'all white ants are going to criticize

His art because he ruled in vernacular;

It's kind of hard to find his antidote,

But Jammeh was like King Mansa Musa...

Everything he touched turned to gold:

Get out if you can't handle the heat in this kitchen

You're now begging on your knees 

Like you need the Geneva Convention

Have you not mimic the gimmicks of his development

Masked in tribalism and grieving his relics of history...

 

Seven years after he left,

The Gambia regretted what it had decided

Swimming in the pool of its own blood

From tribal politics to tribalism

The country sinks into retardation

We needed the blood of our forefathers

You're about to forget your identity in this misery

 

Shame on the side of the table

You are closer to your dreams

Chase it, but you forgot the innocence of men

Shredded in the works of a patriot

Should he come from your tribe before you can accept him?

The Gambia is now ruled like a baby diaper in the hands of women

Sounding like a thought hammer

The New Gambia sang us in a pool of blood

And decorate the pavement

 

Missing millions in corruption

Bragging around town in colors

Dirty politics is the game

But why do you always watch your back

When you hear the name Yahya Jammeh?

My special wishes go to you! To schedule or book me for public lectures, book launches, conferences, readings, scriptwriting, keynotes, or motivational speaking events, please email: modoulaminsowe1@hotmail.com. All rights reserved! Thank you for reading and following my blog. Should you wish to use any of my articles for research, lectures, personal use, etc., kindly address your message to: modoulaminsowe1@hotmail.com. Copying any of my articles without my written permission is an infringement of my copyright.

 

Amadou Jallow is Dead, but OJ is Not Gone: A Tribute Poem by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

Should I save the face of the moon?

From Kartong to Koina

In the midst of politics,

The Gambia River's banks are afloat.

Death similar to that of the King of Fuladu

Grip us within four days.

Should funerals be the only means of uniting people?

Or should we just be thankful for having OJ Jallow Junction?

Gambians, they say, only celebrate you when you die.

To shed tears for a fallen

Intellectual

We must cry over papers.

Should I not write your silvery deeds on a golden plate?

To say that the illusion of death

Holds me bound.

And life is a carcass of dreams.

And a theater of illusion.

A man needs to die.

Why the tears of fear?

The screams in the streams

Tell me, Death, how do I piece it together?

Fragments of this national sorrow

 

Death upon death: yesterday, today, and tomorrow

Alieu K. Jammeh, Aja Fanta Basse, and Uncle OJ Jallow

Your names were once written in the sky.

The birds sang of your might and glory.

From Banjul to Sinchu Sorri, every child once ate your sweets.

Chocolate biscuits in your eyes, till death came and arrested you.

The verb "is" turned into "was."

Every sentence forced me to write it in the past.

Your records are broken; your names are turned over to 'rest in peace'.

 

You're gone, but your land will never fallow.

We are not all promised tomorrow.

From the mule hills of Futa Jalon to Futa Torro

Like Mikel Borough, but when I die, bury me in Sao Paulo.

 

A stream of sympathy follows.

Screams come in loud hollows.

The ground slips beneath our condolences.

My wings dare to break.

As my back bends in wake

But to pray for you, Uncle OJ, we must

On this dammed earth’s crust

Feeling my toes itch

Falling into a ditch

Saviour above reach

But to forgive

Heaven’s delight

Self, not to heal.

 

Beloved Uncle OJ Jallow

Heart, pure as snow

Your tainted soul

Dwells in a heart of gold

May Allah forgive you, I pray.

I swear to God,

I only wish you felt what I did.

If only you had,

You will kneel where I kneeled.

 

Remembering you is melting me,

Daily, I melt.

I only meant to do what I meant.

But if prophets can die, tell me,

Why not you, Uncle OJ Jallow?

‘Kulli-Nafsin-Zallikatul-Mawt’,

‘Kaalu-Inna-Lillahi-Waa-Inna-Illaihi-Raojo-on’

My special wishes go to you! To schedule or book me for public lectures, book launches, conferences, readings, scriptwriting, keynotes, or motivational speaking events, please email: modoulaminsowe1@hotmail.com. 

All rights reserved! Thank you for reading and following my blog. Should you wish to use any of my articles for research, lectures, personal use, etc., kindly address your message to: modoulaminsowe1@hotmail.com.

Copying any of my articles without my written permission is an infringement of my copyright.