By the twilight of December 1, 2016
It dawn on Pride who was too proud for over two decades
That lies and bogus show have a beginning and ending
Even the so-called spiritual beings couldn’t rescue him
The seed of terror he implanted in our country
Was defeated by the sister seed he grew for tertiary education
And a defiant throng that sold its life for change
His thought-military-might was whitewashed by minds’ might
And then the dawn of new Gambia unfolded like a package
Liberty and dignity will ensue at last we thought
But lo and behold! Time the teller of all stories is telling all
Our hoisted hopes began to dash away as if dust.
First we were assured of a good of this and a good of that
A change of this and a change of that, by-and-large
Within a wink of weeks the bond bonded started to break
Promises piled yet ignored like the Bakoteh dumpsite
The politicos couldn’t cool their ugly greed on power
As they rant in rave wanting to be the best father and husband
Yet their children cry of hunger and women fret of being demeaned
OMG! To say the least, our politicos should stop the comic
We have Kitabu Fatty and Bright Star Entertainment
Their talents shouldn’t be wasted neither be rubbed from them
Can so-called intellectuals throwing shades at one another
Build our trust and be given our future to manhandle?
Emphatically No! Sagaciously detrimental! Foolishly foolish!
Fast forward with this cooked quagmire by our politicos
You manning our post and can’t talk the talk, resign!
We picked you to transform our country and not to target us
Water canon for “hot water” for free expressionists? Are you ok?
Life is too short to live, too long to be at the dark
We have emanate far, need to drive fast or continue to lag far
But by looks, seeing is said is believing
Perchance divine intervention you grip firm for favors
Might mold your motives right to make you look bright
If it’s too early for time the tell to tell your story
Then packing your bags and baggage now is cool
For when too many men with might set out to marvel you
Your inner circle and monumental clowns would melt like water.
Let I forget to fret about your inner circle, the lust capitalists
Telling you it is God’s choice and not that of the people
And about it, you brag about and brimming your face bright
When your irises are clouded by the preciousness of power
Bellyful and drunken like a bloody drunkard
Until the untold truth is told by an altruist within your nucleus
Time the teller will tell yet another story of miscarriage mission.
Momodou Jarju is a freelance journalist, essayist, poet and blogger. He is currently pursuing Advance Diploma at Media Academic for Journalism and Communication (MAJaC).
