The Chronicle Gambia

Your Last Gambian Unicorn

To many, I am an illusion;

To some, an allusion.

You see, words are my toys,

And writing my pastime.

When I reach out,

I come swinging,

Like a wrecking ball,

Not to damage

But to make whole

Through entropy.

I am hard to follow,

Difficult to understand,

Complex to size,

Impossible to comprehend:

Your last Gambian unicorn—

Straight like an arrow,

Fast like lightning,

Cool like a sea breeze,

Strong like a nail,

Peaceful like a dove,

But I can sting like a bee.

My mental ability is out of this world.

My wisdom is of the celestial bodies.

You want me when you don’t have me,

When you have me you despise me.

I‘m like a tsetse fly on a scrotum,

You approach me with caution;

Like a mad woman dangling a baby,

You negotiate with me.

I am that enigma—

The quintessential sane insane.

I blow both cold and hot,

I can cry and smile at the same time,

I can launder and iron at the same time,

I can drum and scratch my butt at the same time.

I am the truth you seek, the falsehood you live.

I am the reality in your mirage,

The strength in your weakness,

The security in your vulnerability,

And the calm in your crises:

Your last Gambian unicorn.



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