Treasure Island

momodou jarju

(24/10/93 / mariama kunda)


In an evening breeze ere the rain came
Stood beneath the gate glaring
As the wind blows, toss and turn
Raising dust and moist
The wicked blizzard blitz our city
Suddenly the rain resume, racing
That keeps falling from far up in the sky
Shooting bullets on our ceilings'
Dropping tears of joy as if dogs and cats
At a whim, the rain hoist my emotions
Wetting the surface of the earth
Flooding in every nook and cranny of our street
As the waveband bubbling on the ground
In zigzags lines lengthening my thoughts
Goggle-eyed I stood in muse
The spot left me with a clue to perceive the art of Allah
The patience earth permits the rainfall to flood on it
To erode her elements
The street was shaggy in dilapidated shape
The road muddy, many potholes and water stagnant
Opening the doors for the killing one to troop in
The rain drained and washed away many houses
A lot of heads marooned in their houses
The rain continue to pregnant the soil
For peasant to plough and plant
To give birth grown seedlings
That would flower like a tower
In quest for food consumption ridged
Within a wink I perceive a sound uproar like a blast!
I goggles my sights, heart jumps ultra-more than 76 digits
It must be at my back, I thought, or at far ahead of…
I stride forth at once in a trice I saw the hut of my bosom friend flat
Stretched and leveled on the ground like a praying mat
His tears raining and draining tormenting his heart
Momentarily, another bomb exploded propinquity
A chorus shouts! Yelling and howling heard all over in the sky
Hearts sending message to the thunder to take forth the Mosh High
Pleading respite on their state of life scenic on their faces lamenting
Suddenly the thunder rumble and blast again
Afar we saw the spit of light alight a tree afar burnt to ashes
I stood steering without stammering
My heart hailing the art of Allah
My mind muse the nothingness status of man
To His hands man ought to shelter.
(Mo Tha Writer)

Submitted: Tuesday, August 26, 2014

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