06/01/2025
A Lament for My Generation
On January’s dawn, blood stained the soil,
The cries of war, the reek of toil.
In Sierra Leone, the sun set red,
A nation wept for its countless dead.
We rose from ashes, or so we thought,
Dreaming peace was what we’d bought.
But here we are, not with guns but with pills,
New wars fought on self-inflicted hills.
My brothers fall, not by bullets or blades,
But by the poison their own hand trades.
Kush smokes the dreams from their lungs away,
Ecstasy robs the night from day.
Vody flows like rivers in the street,
While mothers mourn at absent feet.
A war of minds, a silent scream,
A generation drowning in a fleeting dream.
Do you remember, oh my land of green?
The laughter of youth, the lives we’ve seen?
Now hollowed eyes and trembling hands,
Mark the legacy of broken lands.
Who will save us, who will fight?
When the battles are waged in the dead of night?
Where fathers weep, and mothers pray,
For their children lost to the devil’s play.
This war is silent, but it rages on,
A generation fleeting before it’s gone.
So I cry to you, to the hearts that remain,
Can we not rise and break this chain?
For Sierra Leone, for what we’ve endured,
We must find strength, we must be cured.
Not by despair, not by the knife,
But by the love that rekindles life.
Let tears fall now, let hearts be moved,
Let broken souls be soothed and proved,
That even in darkness, there’s a chance to ignite,
The spark of hope, the will to fight.
