Harmattan

how does one go back to the cold after seeing the sun?

too often we forget that the light casts shadows

and that her rays do burn sometimes

and her beams blind as they illuminate

that the devil is an angel too

sweet little devil with the broken halo

kissed me lonely and let me go

sweet little devil with the broken halo

kissed me lonely and made it so

how does one go back to the cold after seeing the sun?

after feeling her rays spill on me like the rain

after hearing her lips spill out my name

after tasting the sweet bitterness of her kiss

she smiled like the rain

don't ask me how.

but it washed over you,

it took you over.

i always find myself writing about her smile.

she was a poet's wet dream;

one could never capture her essence on paper.

but something about her compelled you to try.

so every now and again i find myself trying to do justice to the way how she brought out the sun.

the way she laughed made a man desire to change his life's mission -

'cause surely there could be no higher calling than making sure those bursts of heaven came in steady supply.

and i find myself rambling sometimes

whenever she deigns to trespass upon my state of unconsciousness

because for all her magic, she is not welcome here anymore

how does one go back to the cold after seeing the sun?

I've since been trying to figure this out

but i do not know how to not need her

i have never been one for moderation

i do not fall

i plummet

i do not bleed

i hemorrhage

this liquor burning through my belly holds no answers 

this burning in my lungs solves nothing 

pale imitations of the sun do not suffice it seems

how does one go back to the cold after seeing the sun?

I do not know.

but you left...

...and it's been cold here ever since.

Tarik Ali is a musician, writer and poet from Sierra Leone

The Shook Penis

Sir, your penis doesn't devalue me

You are not that special

I am not made cheap or expensive by your penis

I am not a box of fine products , that when the lid is broken, the value decreases

Sir, it is strange

That you see me that way

I am not a slave

I am not for sale

I am not a tin of sardines

Or some other ridiculousness

You cannot devalue me - you don't have that power

Sir, you are a man, a faulty man, a regular man, a rich and powerful man

You are whoever you decide you are

But what you are not is my god, my master, my manufacturer, my purchaser , my seller.

If you believe a woman is dirty when you touch her, maybe take a look at your hands , your heart, your morality.

Sir, you are not a god.

I am not a sealed or unsealed product. Therefore, I cannot be devalued or valued as such.

I am human. Flesh like you . Equal as you . I am valuable too, because I am human.

Rosaline Johnson is a poet , singer and student based in Freetown, Sierra Leone.

Hair

I love your hair.

I love your smile when

I tell you so,

You blink your brown eyes,

And wave your hand,

Like you get that a lot;

But you don’t.

I know so,

So I tell you this:

I love,

Your bouncy curls,

Glistening in the same sun,

That loves your melanin,

As much as I do.

I could forever talk about,

How God took Her time

To create you,

But I know you’d never believe me.

So I’ll just admire until you see.

I love your hair,

But most of all,

I love the mindset

Underneath your forever curls.

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

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