>From: amy jallow <[log in to unmask]> >Reply-To: The Gambia and related-issues mailing list              <[log in to unmask]> >To: [log in to unmask] >Subject: poems by sheriff bojang culled from Gambia observer >Date: Mon, 28 Mar 2005 23:20:36 +0100 > >Poems >By Sheriff Bojang >Mar 26, 2005, 09:11 > > > > >Canny Lie >It was all peace in our little pride >Until the day that strange cub came >Where we were silver plain he was dotted >And where our manes flow, he was bald >Even when we gave him a tiara of dried leaves >His strangeness shone with more egrigity >But we accepted him for his verve >Although we do not know the strange cub >He was a most rococo vassal. >When the King growls he tumbles >He delights in trelishing the king’s mane >And sucking his dusty paws in his watery mouth >The strange cub became a lion >And as for his strangeness, we got used to it >In his days as a lackey >He combed the king’s mane and our secrets >One day at the turn of the season >After the harvest, he killed the Lion King >And the strange cubs become the strange king >Of our much quiescent little pride >He said he was the promise and came >Not to change but enforce the law >Though he squeaks where we roar >We could not break the spell of our new King >He built a dome over our watering hole >and excreted on our oracles >Rendering them impotent >‘Freedom is the first law’ he ruled >Ang gagged all those who say but >Prosperity is the second law, he ruled >And extracted all the golden teeth >From all those who wear one >Equality is the third law he ruled >And killed all those who prowl like him >Cunning lies, canny lie, >so went on the story >Of our much quiescent little pride > > > >-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- > >This thing called love >Once in the days of our innocence >We travel in a dreaming star that glide >Without noise in the orange dusk >We guest at a temple called Lovia >Where heads ooze chocolate pearls >And people eat hearts with arrows >In Lovia, no kings live, >The last Inhibitia II was slain >And by the codes of sans law live the Lovians >In Lovia, the world is a priestless temple >The last priest, Hypocritia II was burnt >And by the code of sans prayer, worship the Lovians >Once in the days of our awakening >We live in a city where the streets have no names >Where no weavers clad beauty in shame >Lovia is a temple of a Polyphemusian eye >Which blinks naught nor grows weary or sing to the >Orpheus >In Lovia, there is no colour >For colour is but a shadow which defiles >The beauty of the colourless >In Lovia no one sips the juice of loppy >For size and proportions are servile fetters >Which bedims the vision of the chaste self >In Lovia, there is no language >For the sound of words are too loud >Lovians speak in the feeling of the unspoken >In Lovia, there is no sorrow, nor joy >For only the pained heart knows the extant joy >And only the unicorn laughs and wails for she is vain >Once in the days of our fulfilment >We bade farewell to Lovia and glide away >On a cluster of bubbling stars >At home, we found an invasion >A new king, Inhibitia III >And Hypocritia III, the mullah >Preached the law in the temple > > > >-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- > >A radical’s song >You painted me a black face >But say I am of the fire, the light and air >A black fire, black light, black air? >You gave me names: Lucifer, that I can’t decipher >Satan, I would prefer Santa >I never met you but you say >I am closer to you than your virginal skin >When you sprinkle the vital fluid >And eviscerate the heavy mother >And hit with your hammer of quietus >When your eye ogles with lust >And your blood races with passion >For that smarmy hole or that arrogant phallus >When your scurvied hands filch and cache >The warm harvest of that penurious toiler >You say I make you do it >But how can I lie your lie for you >When you’ve never heard my voice >You have never seen my girth and my mirth >Or smelt my mildewy odour >But you say I am so small >That I could get into your faint heart >And traipse into your redolent breathe >But you say I am so big that I stretch from Cape to >Siberia >From the Dead Sea to the alpine chalet >Then I truly do not know myself >I became the chimerical him >whose face you painted so black >Only you can see me >Because I live only in your lie >And I have no voice to say, piss off! > >© Copyright 2003 by Observer Company > >Top of Page > > > >   Entertainment >Latest Headlines > >WHATS ON >LOVE LINES >Poems >WHAT’S ON >LOVE LINES >WHATS ON >LOVE LINES >WHATS ON >LOVE LINES >WHAT'S ON > > > > >Send instant messages to your online friends http://uk.messenger.yahoo.com > >¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤ >To unsubscribe/subscribe or view archives of postings, go to the Gambia-L Web interface >at: http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/archives/gambia-l.html > >To Search in the Gambia-L archives, go to: http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/CGI/wa.exe?S1=gambia-l >To contact the List Management, please send an e-mail to: >[log in to unmask] >¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤