—A Griot’s Song for Gambia— I sing of this land where rivers speak—while The Gambia flows in her verse,as narrow as a whisper,yet wider than a mother’s hug. For its waters are never silent—humming with shouts of traders,drummers, poets, and dreamers,naming...

I would like to think while you sleep there are demons crawling at your feet waiting for your impending death for they can feast on your rotten flesh they love those who preach blah, blah, blah, God all while sucking on the devil's cock hypocrisy is...

I hear the words you place before me on the flat groundI hear the words you use as a wall to block and shut me outI understand not wanting to come too closeI understand the heat is too muchYet...