• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 09
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A string of three amulets
Like a sacrament wrist watch
On those closed eyes swelled with tears.
What is it Khadija? The dejected mood and layers of emotions
A juju string that screams on your padded eyes

What has been foretold to you? At the prime of your youth
Tell me my sister from the motherland
A frantic look as in trance,
Desperate to escape from a blazing cage.
Reflects a singular conversation with dreaded spirits from the motherland,
Dashing your hopes like a summer without roses,
A breaking dawn without the sunlight and chipping birds

A string of three amulets like how it was when you were born,
Tied to cast off evil spells, the ways of our Gambian customs.
But as the rain is destined to soak the ground
May the ill-fated hour be shoved away?
By that string of three amulets like dried petals on your eyes.
Khadija, you have seen the volcanic rise spewing its fury
And refused to see the ill-fated destiny

As we wonder exploring you after sunset
Your eyes looking back at us;
The glow in your face with a story to tell
You who put others before you,
Resilient to the scorching furnace
The siren sounds, repeated blasts, yet helping and assisting
Until the Lights were overrun by smothering smoke.



Sleep peacefully Khadija,
Your part has been done
And your works are like a festival of heaven artefacts
The glow in your face an unfinished story
Your eyes gazing through layers of emotions
At viewers admiring your living talents.