Killing me isn't enough, because you're preventing me from commiting more sin.

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Oh Liberia

By: Ivan Brooks Sr.

Deep down the West African coast,
Where the pepper birds once nested,
Where merchant Spaniards traded
For malagueta peppers and human cargoes, stands the sweet land of liberty, Who, though her name was still unknown, her fame was green. That land of my joy and pride, Africa's first republic, is now a mess. Yet God remains stoic. Lone Star of Africa,
Once the hope of ex-slaves returned from America, what has happened to your shines?

Down the Montserrado basin where mosquito-infested mangrove swamp waters were ushered in by tidal waves
when morning and evening slowly bathed naked under the bright moonlight, sits that sweet land of liberty. oh, Liberia, home to Mandigo queens and beautifully Mande brides,
Where is your glory, how can I rewrite your story?

Somewhere down the corridor of history, Dutchmen once chained my forefathers and marched them for weeks to your coast to be stockpiled like animals on blood-soaked decks of mighty slave vessels.
Where was God in all of this?

Oh Liberia, once Africa's golden child, the go-to land, the beacon of hope, you are now a transcended political joke.

#IBpoetry© #Bassapoet
7-8-2019

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One major cause of poverty in Liberia is some individuals having great time breeding kids while others work sweatily to provide for those kids.

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Exercising my constitutional right is not defined as campaigning for a political party.

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