Saffiyah Joof, The Poet
In The Prison, There is a reason for every crime, The brave man bleeding profusely, Reddish-brown eyes, bursting into tears, Energetically tall behind bars, The door clutches short, he took a deep breath. In his mind, the weak man speak, ” I am not my father neither would I spear him nor would I gave him chance”. A figurative voice responded from the prison, ” You challenge your father at the milky stage, we are yet to start the race. His ice eyes could have finished you, Your piece of legacy needs patient, You’re pearly a perishable puppet if care is not taken”. “I have pleaded for your released, You will meet your architect father, None would you give a taste of word, Or else you will be banished from this kingdom. With the crown king, biting his lower lips, Sitting on his throne, rolling his big eyes, The range of dark men surrounding him, All of them look visionless, That only move out for a mission. The King roars, move and walk down, “Let me warn you, from today the king son is dead, For thee, the king has no mercy, I shall give you the amount to join the jungles, calls the guards for his release”, the king ordered. Nonetheless, the force waitress was crying, Into the most decorated bed in the village, She exits the backdoor while feeling in pain. Her son bowed down to his knees, While the king slammed the door with a blanket look. Through the window, As she glances at her son, Ascot out of the village, She has no apex of appetite. She felt angry but helpless. She felt feeble and hopeless. This is a slave but also voiceless, In the eyes of the bodyguards, She is the king’s favorite girl. She has beautiful brown eyes, With a tiny voice, and truly left alone. But ironically she is being hated, Because of how the public views her as the closest female friend of the king. Out of no choice, She remains faithful to the man that rapes her. Every beat of her suffering was written, Yet she holds it so tight to her throat, And believes to tell her story someday. She was noble with her faith despite a few trusted bodyguards of the king knows. Her voice was motionless as the Apple of her eyes close to sleep. When the night enters, The king calls for her service, He throws a party in his bed, Green ribbons all over the stylist room, With bottles of classic wines to toast. The King’s favorite girl dresses up in a flashlight nightly strip. While the melodious music rhymes in the building. The night gets deeper with the strange noise of the waterfall from a distance. His chest touching the pillows of the bed, Gazing his eyes at the favorite girl. She cries loudly with her tiny voice. The wind blows beautifully, teasing the woman with a smile. “I’m not your dislike, you have no choice but to obey”. A voice responded from the darkroom With a shiny knife seen through the darkness “Free that woman or I will cut off your throat, your sweet smiles would go invalid. You little of pieces of salt. Twisting his knife directly to the king’s face”. As the voice turn closer, the king started trembling. “My experience is minimum, My blood is not cold, And you are not bold, Under the dead deem green lights, I shade tears of yellow, I don’t wash dishes together with my knife, My little crown king. Blood is thicker than water” The gentle dead drain man heartbeat from his chest. Episode 3 (to be continued) #Nakalaapoems #SaffiyahjoofGambia #The Alkamba Times.