A Minute’s Silence
for Sierra Leone Before The Elections
By Gbanabom Hallowell.
Face off hands,eyes open, tightlips gather strength
Sun off,rain rise, day night circle winkless watch
Bearer torch,kill blindness knockwood dark in eagle night
Clutch fingers; roll the brute on the Christ of shroud
A drop of blood on August lens, no rain intended wash away
Then roll the beads finger-fore, paint the kaaba black and see
Dog-ear attention to this final Portuguese korentha
Strengthens the resolve to break free from all forms of chains
Save the choral throat a pink even when the sun’s on stage
True children come forth from the burial place with burial cords
Even so, clap not your pleasure in your painful palms
Don’t trust the public rainbow couched on moving clouds
Figure out, Noah no longer smells the same; oftener smells even not
Which two by two make a four running roots deep down the soil
I have seen many a mathematician growing feathers in the brain
Many yet running and counting running and farting dry
O for the waters that humbled Pedro da Cintra
O for the mosquito on the body of the white conquistador
O for the legend of the peasant who tasted it all
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