Wednesday, July 5, 2023

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?


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