I am rich, I killed the Sheriff

By Mathew K. Jallow, Associate Editor

I will talk

To my shadows

If necessary

When no one will listen

To resurrect my soul

In this land

That I know no more

Gambia is bleeding

This land that we love

Now tears of blood

Frayed hopes

Like Armageddon

Sinking to a new low

In the bowels of despair

Where the spirits of the dead reside

The little sparrows fly west

Seeking the light

As darkness cast a shadow behind

My heart sinks

Just walking in the mist

Going east to nowhere

Our souls mortgaged

To a dark force

Sitting on a throne of air

Beating his chest

I am king I am lord

Living a world of fantasy

I just stood there

On a secluded corner

Gnawing my teeth

Flashing a steel blade

A shiny blade

Thinking, waiting

A pistol in my waistband

Just thinking

And waiting

Agony on my face

As I look around

The deafening silence

Speaking volumes

The eerie look of agony

No one dares talk

Hiding to read

As those slaves

In plantation America

Talk softly

And don’t talk loud

For you have no voice

Not anymore

Your feelings swirling in your head

No license to be heard

Lest they send you to the Hotel

To Mile 2 of course, Where else?

Now I am ready

I took aim

On the king’s forehead

With my brand new colt .47

Hold your breath

An invisible voice coached

Breath

Steady

Fire

Then the death

Blood for blood

We told you so

You would not listen

Now you are no more

The king is dead

And the joy

What a feeling

As for me

I can die now

My mission accomplished

And when I die

Can you build a monument to my mother?

And bury my soul

In Sare Gainako

Facing my mother’s unknown grave

And near my father

Who gave up on me?

On becoming a hippie

I will tell him I am rich

I killed a monster

And that counts for something

I think

Doesn’t it?

The proudest Gambian

That I am

Having slaughtered a monster

And freed my people

So I am rich too

Very rich

No! Very, very rich