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.

You Again? (Lyrical Poem) by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

You again?

It's you again,

The lion knows nothing but to kill and eat.

You're too short; I can't see the person I battle with.

If you like, become a battery in a touch.

I'll bring you down like a shit in a toilet.

When I am done with you, your name will turn into Desmond.

I am Jesus, and you can only be my disciple.

You want to battle your father; don't you fear God?

I am not at your level from Banjul to Turntable.

Your eyes look like a local gangster.

You'll not blow even if they sign you for five stars.

Dip Doundu Giss is a demi-god.

What are you, if not a dumpster?

 

You again?

If pride is your name, be humble like a condom.

From Sodom to Gomorrah,

Competing with you is a competition abuse

Because all your family projects fell under my shoes

You look stranded like a borrower of Africell credits.

Press 1 if I am not the digit.

Don't you still reach your limit?

Objection, objection, objection overruled --

How can I compete with a human that resembles a balloon?

Let me turn your destiny into my headrest.

Your career is my bedsheet, and the bed I rest

I am at home without an address.

Writing is my empress.

DHL Direct Express

You're too playful.

and too useless

Your brain is like a POS. Everyone pressed

 

Writing is not for everybody.

Your communication needs deliverance to help you rest in peace.

Celebrate my name at the coronation.

I conquered your conversation.

Am a life-giver.

An imperfect sinner

The best I've ever been

Nobody is ahead of me.

Don't act like you've never heard of me.

Your favorite scientist is scared of death; I let him hang on in the news.

I've got nothing to lose.

 

Time is money, and I am spending it every day.

I can't die for nothing.

I've got to live the life of a legend.

Die on cloud nine

Higher than a president in the skies

All these zeros I want to see should be in my bank account.

My ATM card and my bank account

My bank account is low.

But I drive in the same lane as rich men on the road.

In a way I am living, extra-death broke.

My book got the smile of a queen.

Am in airplane mode.

And I am about to touch down.

Say amen to the lord of Gambian literature.

Because he is the one writing these lines.

Nine days to kiss a prophet on his forehead

Aliens called me a hedgehog.

Teenage boys

Nothing shakes the strength of a black man.

Blood of my forefathers

A natural resource, uranium

I am my own criterion.

Do you want to know my origin?

I am from a place where your ministers and presidents want to be.

All these young writers want to be me.

Born of a woman, a black queen from the South East

A black king also came from the West.

If you wanna know the rest, you can check my family crest.

I represent the black color, people of color, and black indigenous peoples.

Unfortunately, your pastor smokes cannabis.

To help your leaders put up the wrong candidates.

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I Wish You Knew - Sad Love Poem by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

I wish you knew how your marriage has affected me.

I wish you knew I can't love another woman as much as you,

I want you to know I'm healing from the pain of heartbreak day by day.

I wish you knew I need you more than anything on earth.

I met many women, but none is like you.
I hurt many girls because of you.
I have forgiven you, but I can't forget our love.

I wish you knew I need you one more time.

I could have married anyone.
But what's marriage without true love?

I wish you knew how hurt the ladies feel whenever I mention your name.

I wish you knew it was your own family that separated us.

You held me in the palm of your hands;

Our love was more than Romeo and Juliet.

My love for you is here to stay.
I can't get you out of my head.

I wish you knew those who separated us
I am the only one you ever truly love.
I wish you knew how black magic affected our love

I wish you knew I am your husband, and you are my wife.

I wish you only knew God can judge us.

I wish you knew we have sworn by the Holy Qur'an to be together forever.
I wish you knew I am only your admirer and lover.
I am not your enemy and cannot be one.

I wish you knew you were the only true love I once had.
I wish you knew how I am dying inside without you

I wish you knew what the future holds for us

I wish you knew the cure for the lonely nights I spent alone
I wish you know you are the only remedy for my heartache.

How I wish, how I wish you knew!

 

My Ramadan wishes to you!  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 written permission is an infringement of my copyright.