Poetry

I Wouldn’t Be, If You Didn’t

If you didn’t take my tiny little fingers and show me how to trace on a sheet

With my hands closed, tightly around that skinny pencil

Perhaps, now, I wouldn’t be able to strike with a pen, like I do now

I wouldn’t even be here, writing

If you didn’t hold my hands, during the nasty days of the war, walking from

Matadi to Sawmill, ICA Camp Sinkor to Duport road, walking past dead bodies,

Sanibayla

Sanibayla Sanibayla! found deep in the forest of Bong

When there was war, you kept men with you, hidden deep in your pocket

For in your world, soldiers never dare

Folks could hide, cook their meals in peace and even share

 

Sanibayla, Sanibayla, the unforgotten corner of Zeanzue

When there was famine, you had your barns filled with produce

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