Your Roses

I saw the roses you got me.

They were beautiful.

They had thorns,

Much like our relationship,

The red as deep as the lipstick I wear,

To impress you on dates,

The smell as intoxicating as yours when we hug.

But the biggest similarity you have with the roses;

They wilted and faded after sometime,

Just like you did. 

Zakkiyah Ibrahim is a poet and student living in Freetown, Sierra Leone

A sabi yu

A sabi yu, as a tɔk yu dɔn vɛks, wan chans yu nɔ de gi mi fɔ se wetin de na mi chɛst

A sabi yu, wetin pipul dɛn gɛt fɔ se bɛtɛ pas yu pikin in pen

A sabi yu, a kin wan kam nia yu so bɔt yu se a de ambɔg yu, so?

A sabi yu, as yu adɔp, wok nɔ go wɛl, ɛnitin a tɔk naw na pwɛl

A sabi yu, a taya fɔ ɛxplen, bo, mi mama yu de kɔz mi bɛku pen

A sabi yu, as a tɛl yu di tru, yu se a disrɛspɛktful, bɔt mama a nɔ fityay yu

A sabi yu, nɔto ignɔ a de ignɔ, na fred a de fred yu

A sabi yu, yu nɔ kia bɔt mi, wetin na os, klos ɛn plenti it we mi spirit ɛmpti

A sabi yu, as yu kɔl mi so, mi at de kɔt, bɔdi de nav... 'wetin a dɔn du bak'

A sabi yu, mi ɛn yu fɔ wok as tim? bɔt mi at ful, wetin egen a fɔ tot fɔ yu

A sabi yu, yu nɔ de tray fɔ mek dis wok, yu jɔs de mek tings wɔs, yu want mek a listin to yu bɔt yu nɔ wan yɛri wetin a gɛ fɔ tɔk

A sabi yu, we a vɛks ɛn go naw, yu bigin kɔl lɛk natin nɔ apin

A sabi yu, as a kam sidɔn na pala so, yu bigin ala pan mi, aw mi na disapɔyntmɛnt, yu rigrɛt we yu bɔn

A sabi yu, a kɔmɔt na os, o naw yu mis mi? a min yu tɔk se mi ɛn yu nɔto padi!

A gi yu mi ɔltin, a cray fɔ yu te, ɛvri nɛt a de beg Gɔd mek ɔltin fayn bitwin yu ɛn mi, bɔt yu nɔ bi want dat so natin nɔ lɛf egen

A sabi yu, na bikɔz ɔf dat mek a de rɔn pa yu, wetin egen a fɔ du?

Isha Razak is a Sierra Leonean student based in the UK

Fritong City

“bo which Depression ba?” 

 “Bipolar Disorder? na false life de kech da baby de!” 

 “na wetman sik dem dat, sam…” 

 “Suicidal Thoughts? noto we i belful? una ker am go church... if Ajesafe pray for dande ehnn!” 

-sang- that's the sound of my city, freetong city 

 the sound of mi country 

 Sierra Leone 

 Salone 

 we don't believe in mental illnesses  

 the kamajors, the rebels of the mind 

 say junta. j6. fet sef kin happen na the mind 

 eastern paddle: the chaos of the mind 

 crase man, Schizophrenia, na street;  

“na do deh do am. e tif fol... a god!” 

-sang- that's the sound of my city, freetong city 

 the sound of mi country 

 Sierra Leone 

 Salone 

 we believe in demonic possessions na di shukubly 

 young gyal, pass out na di shukubly:

“bo na debul ib am! 

 wap am! 

 nak am na di shukubly!” 

 but in truth, she suffers from Anxiety  

 and had a Panic Attack 

 but wi nor believe in dat 

 na di shukubly 

-sang- Ohh noo ohh noo 

 we believe in sermon pills 

 go to pastor, god go heal, intervene  

 e kam pa kam ariogbo go du in ting 

 -sang- that's the sound of my city, freetong city 

 -sang- the only place that we know 

 -sang- the only place we call home 

 home? home?

No 

 home understands my mental health  

 home never makes fun 

 of me  

 when the roofs of gloom fall  

 on me 

 home’ll follow me 

 into the dark, give hands 

 non-judgemental palms 

 “noto drama e lek. wetman or black man, sik no de choose… 

 sik nor get race.” 

 “wi for tek mental health seriously… see, firstly, wi for pay attention to the young wan dem mind state… castrate those things that could frustrate those beings… noto all tin for lef to god… put am dong, ask am where's the pain coming from… mek wi masam… you're not alone.” 

 that should be the sound of my city .

Victor Forna is a poet and writer living in Freetown.

A Nɔ Want Yu

No.

It's not because I'm having an affair with a wealthy married man who buys me pretty things and promises me he'll leave her for me; A nɔ want yu.

Yes, I know you're ABC and you do XYZ, you'll take me here and there and do this and that; "But a nɔ want yu".

Even though she'll give the world to be here with you, a jus nɔ want yu.

Your shoes; tanned leather, your collar; starched-stiff, your skin touched with that jc gloss and your back pocket bulging and screaming "you know say money no be problem"

But a still nɔ want yu.

Don't do that. I said no.

Don't call me that. No means no.

Careful now, your ugly is starting to show.

Don't ask me "Aw yu de mek so ba", because I already told you. A nor want u. Without an explanation or apology.

A nɔ want yu.

Rejected, jilted, self conflicted sexually frustrated turned angry, vindictive slanderous story teller.

"Bitch", "slut", "hypocrite" just a few untrue words you said out loud and to every idle ear to restore your shrunken ego, just because I said...

Ebun Tengbeh is a Lawyer and Poet based in Sierra Leone.

SELF-EXILED

The trees have abandoned the forest,

And the birds have forgotten their nest.

The baby ignores its mother’s breast,

For the dirty fingers of a guest.

Tears more than the chin can arrest

And pain, more than the heart can digest

Now bursts forth in an untamed protest

For the patriotism lying unexpressed.

There is too much here to harvest,

For this land still lays blessed

With more in which to invest.

But the workers are all on a quest

In search of foreign homes to rest

But those who remain are obsessed

With thoughts of living in the west.

Irony is indeed at its best,

For while Africa is said to be the richest,

Her children still congest to the west

To be oppressed, or as they say: to be a pest.

Africans no longer beat their chests

Against contemporary foreign conquests,

Instead, we’ve turned Africa into a jest;

Running to small boats to be compressed

In search of fulfillment for vain interests.

If we do this, we are called the smartest.

Those who die along, are mourned as the bravest,

And the survivors are celebrated as the luckiest.

Is this survival of the fittest, Or exiling of the weakest?

Musa Christopher Smart is a young Sierra Leonean poet. He currently lives and writes in Bo city (Southern Sierra Leone).