Saffiyah Joof, The Poet
The griot man awakes at night to test the string of his guitars, With his cigarette so far being the only light seen from a degree. As he peeped out his head, For the first time, his blood froze, The shock of bloodstains on the floor, Blow his fitness center sight, The bullet that almost took his life. The flashing torchlight on his face, The snipers have taken half of the palace. Before the commander send his troops to position, It was impossible to communicate, Peddling out of frustration, They were determined but wholly discouraging. An unexpected firing began. ‘Cease fired, we are not enemies We have only one big enemy. Maybe our motives are the same, Maybe we can fight to end our suffering’, the strange voice sugar cake. The snipers ruling on both sides, The guards were flying down from the tower. The tension was in high gear, And the guards went on disparage. The eagle bird was managing to escape, In the cage, the bird sang with wisdom , ‘ My king is innocent, to him I will surrender. My king is the hero, my village celebrates. You can cage my body but not my soul, you can tie my legs but not my thoughts’. The moonbeam was like a blade protruding through the window, As the eagle bird closed its eyes and lay quite still. The beautiful woman pageant out in the king’s bed like a mirror, Hiding her face away while holding on to the blanket. The King’s bruise face already being in a mixed stage, gasping for air, struggling to breathe. The knife was placed on his throat, He said, ‘I can’t breathing again, may I know my crime’. When the gentleman released him down, With an aggressive slapped heed. ‘Please do not finish me’ there is room for negotiations, the king begged again. The gentleman repeated, ‘ my little brother’s finger was chopped off, how about your arm? ‘ . the King said, ‘ a donkey might kick his son but doesn’t hate him. ‘Then I was right if I could chop off your arm. I want to know my brother’s whereabouts, my mother too unknown’ the man keep on poking him. The Prisoners escapes, Pouring their feces as tear gas, Covering their faces with masquerades. The guards couldn’t make the best use of their legs but obey their commands. Matching out their voices aloud, ‘Press freedom, at last, the fountain of dignity is found, the poor masses were crying, but today we will laugh ‘. Back into the room of the king, His son continues to give him cancer, ‘My name is with standard, The blood power in your hands, You take over the speech with no bands, Your funky leverage is being bondage, Even with critical journal scrutiny, you short their gate, you arrest without charge, Power is power but today is our power’. He drills the king nose on the floor, And added ‘Nor can you stop the poems that we bleed’. To be continued in episode 4 #Nakalaapoems #The Alkamba Times.