In my lonelines, I lie in my bed
hopelessly listening to the chirping of crickets
The consoling breeze blowing from the cracks of my window
whistling tunes that re-echo from my bamboo bed
sending every hanging object to a dancing practice session:
reacting to every string in a recession

The intermittent cry of lonely owls
adds a base to the consoling rhapsodies
Sounds that also remind villagers
About the witches taking off
To their fate-deciding kingdoms
Kingdom where grown-up and deceased share the same bench
cooking infants' body parts
humming songs of destruction

A sudden cry of a baby
will be hushed by swearing from an angry parent, a witch patent.
At least, they believe
So others are awake, relieved I felt

The breeze blows and steals the light from my kerosene lamp
A precious possession especially
in wet seasons, when the moon hoards its brightness
Aided by angry clouds that are ready to pour out their pains on the earth
I closed my eyes tighter
Seeing billions of black and white shadows

When the cock crows
My pains and fears vanish
It is daybreak I thought
to later realize it is still dark

Stories of the last night cock's crow
Makes the headlines in all
riverside petty talk, adults discussions
Redemption will be sought from liars, the eyes of the gods
With just a few cowries they throw
on dirt-ridden floor mats
They calculate a nonmathematical problem with addition,
A mystery on how they arrive at a result
With confidence, they will say
'the witch kingdom needs a sacrifice,
an infant will die suddenly'

The parents of the crying baby
We, Will, start relating the story
Insults will be aimed at people
Barrens, poor childless older fellows will be the target
Insults will be directed to these people

If by chance the child dies
The eyes of the gods will be exalted
The barrens, poor old fellows will be confronted, disgraced
even sent on exile, to "evil" forests

At dusk
My fear crawls in
Fear of loneliness
Fear of sleeplessness
Fear of the dark
Dark village night.




Hakim ©




© Hakim Fuhad Mansaray