Our Heroes and Heroines

I was driven to write this poem after hearing of the passing on of another student activist leader, D. Sumoiwu Pewu. Over the years, let's say throughout the history of Liberia, many persons have fought to protect freedom in our country. After a few years, their work and lives become unknown, though some of them are still alive. This poem is dedicated to these heroes and heroines. Samuel Kofi Woods, Archbishop Michael Francis, Kenneth Best, Dr. Joseph Guannu, Kloh Hinneh, Angie Brooks- Randolph, Albert Porte, Madam Suakoko, Mrs. Martha Sandolo-Belleh, David Coleman, Mrs. Abeodu B. Jones, Mrs. Catherine B. Cummings, Madam Lango Lippay, Wuo Tarpiah, Madam Suah Coco, Nowai Flomo, Dr. Antoinette Brown-Sherman, Morris Dolley, Tecumsey Roberts,
D. Sumoiwu Pewu . . .


Hypocrites and sycophants watch with glee
As freedom suffered big and small deaths
Voices smothered in eerie silence
Few dare bring some window of sunshine
Where a few dare to be conceived as heroes
Our dawning dreams
Creep at night to light a dark window
Only a few defy beasts so desperate to control

Not through force, stiletto or rods
They know not how to shatter
Dreams, doors or fracture skulls
Nor wear uniforms and opulent outfits
They have no weapons, grenades
They stand not on roofs of buildings to shoot civilians
To dissenters, they have not scored a mark
Or shot down a being to win their applause

Their hands marked from toil and Labor
Through sleepless nights of writings
From years of honest hard work
Dark nights in Liberia’s secret corners
Hidden dens from eyes of brutal dictators
Rebels too anxious to kill

Their callused feet hold memories
Years of holding tiny platforms
Fleeing down rocky hills
Walking through streets and slums
Voice marked by many stories told
Endless palava hut lectures
Unpaid discourses for exchanges

Heroes and heroines with no marching bands
Continuing a struggle of long
Setting aside self concern, no media hype
A face seen passing on a crowded street
Their small steps that become mighty

Sadly, when the limelight ends,
Heroes and heroines fade away
Become nameless and unknown
Some fight the silent battles
Till their dying day.
— 2005

Deceitful

  Close your eyes to them
They come as friends to slaughter
Men who bear children to kill
Sitters to smother lives
Acquaintances to bury dreams
Like leeches they passionately wander

  Close your heart to them
They enchant like heaven
Without blood they live
They carry hearts of stones
Fearing good and beauty
Simply evil day and night  

Watch out for them
Satan’s image they bear
Draped in elegant garments
Polished hair radiantly shaped
Buggy eyes painted to seduce
Their tongues trace smooth lies  

Stay afar of them
They relentlessly lust blood 
Like untamed winds marching
Seeking unsurpassable innocence
To disastrously devastate lives
Loathing harmonious happiness  

Shield them not
They are evil and dark
Boldly despising humankind
In hell’s cage they shall linger
Basking in passionate distress
Bonding with their comrades’ beats

  Rise Above Their Claws
Soar higher absorbing paradise
Savor life’s boundless bliss
Dance, glow with rainbows
Captivating melodious sounds
Enrich your life with candid smiles
— 2005

A Diary for Michael

This poem is based on the experience where instead of providing assistance to the needy, people in charge take things for themselves and also try to stifle the progress of others.


Rejected, abandoned to this place
Dwelling in a discarded place
Lying between given away sheets
Half-broken chairs and table
Uneven and unmatched utensils
With unfriendly insects
Lean and alone we smile together
 

There are times when the days seem long
Inside this gloomy and humid place
The world outside exists not
Our rhythms are non-traditional
Bathtub is the laundry mart
Laundry soap also for hands
Shampoo is polish for the floor  

We create a world of laughter and hopes
Except when the caretaker comes
But how annoying when one finds
Someone who has no desire
But to take away our joy
A large and most unfriendly caretaker
Comes in to see what we are at.  

That caretaker with pagan mind
She says she thinks she is God’s chosen
And yet she is a caregiver
It’s rather odd
This time you are charged with indiscipline
I am guilty of poor furnishing
Still she continues to store our needs  

With heads like ears of corn, feet like daggers
Who thinks she is too holy and high
Under the cover of our grief
Sneaks and eats offerings at the altar
Yet somehow doesn't think it wrong
To munch through harvest offered
While we must scramble  

For human beings only do
What power and greed tells them to.
And always, night and morning, pray,
They are like the church mouse,
Pray and worship in God's own house,
But all the same it's strange to me
They steal the offering from the altar.
— 2005