By Mathew K. Jallow

 

Six feet under, beneath red sandy clay, bloated bodies’ lay

Lacerations, ghastly wounds, punctured skulls

Maggots on feeding frenzy, like tomorrow will never come

Curled-up upper lip, and pale lifeless leathery skin

That familiar gold tooth still seemed to smile right back at you

As menacing dark clouds gathered over restless Brikama

Sons and daughter gone forever; on that long and darkest night

Stone-faced agents of death, and visible fear on nervous faces

An anguished mother wrapped her arms around her only son

But his blank eyes betrayed fear, on a listless innocent face

Now every night she heard his gentle voice echo in the darkness

Don’t cry for me Da-am, I say don’t you cry for me no more

Care for my little sister; let God’s goodness fill her small heart too

Here on heaven’s door I will wait until we can meet again

The sad solemn voices calling from beyond the grave

 

 

I see them everywhere, those walking wounded, and the scarred

Contoured faces betraying the pain of a thousand humiliations

With terror in their hearts, everyday they walk and murmur to no one

Like the sacrificial Tobaski lamb, they are marked for pointless death

At the stroke of midnight, they will come knocking, its time to die

He will be gone before he can say goodbye to his pretty little child

Bound and gagged, the executioners threw him behind a dark SUV

Soon he could hear the rustling of leaves, and lapping of sea waves

He has done nothing wrong, and he hoped for Allah’s saving miracle

No one ever came back from the brink, where the angels of death waited

They chanted and danced the rumba of the spirits of the forest

And drank fermented palm wine offering to their long dead ancestors

Soon he too was a heap lifeless body, the way they all live and die here

Everyday some disappear never to return; yet no one dares ask

The mournful voices from beyond the grave crying for justice

 

 

The Gambia of my childhood, I don’t know you anymore, I don’t

Your sons and daughters abandoned to the Kanilai monster

Their blood spilt, from the woods of Bantanto to the hills of Sare Hela

Everyone walking in great hurry, but going nowhere fast

On the streets, tinted SUVs ply the street looking for an easy prey

And inside expensive state vehicles, visible shadows of men of power

Outside, the shirtless, shoeless hungry folks of little means kneel and bow

Through a window it flew out, where the man of power sat and grinned

Then five hungry faces butt heads for a piece of one crisp dalasi bill

As quickly as it came, the vehicle disappeared behind the milling crowds

The walking wounded, the broken egos reflecting a dangerous chasm

And under the huge baobab tree she sits singing sad melodies to a lost son

As if the blue horizon yonder will open to reveal its heavenly secrets

As if her son will drop out of the sky for her to hold and never leave again

In grace and dignity, she hears her son’s voice cry from beyond the grave