On the Run
I shout out in the dark,
My trembling voice echoes in the silent distance,
Sounds of breaking twigs drew closer,
As chruching pressures on dry leaves expose me from underneath my feet,
I struggle to keep my ears closed from hearing the sound of my own heartbeat.
I must always be on the run,
For the actions i left back home, this is a journey of no return.
I start to feel the bruise from jumping over a two meter fence,
In my attempt to escape from these men, who search for me in silence.
My brain refuses to process the options weather to stay put or just run,
My pulse bid me farewell at the sound of a shot gun,
That put pressure behind my lower waist which felt like looking at the sun.
Hide and seek with armed men is really no fun.
This is why i am on the run,
For the actions i left back home, this is a journey of no return,
I start to feel another bruise from jumping over a two meter fence,
In my attempt to escape from these men who search for me in silence.
He was a good-looking gentleman,
Came to visit not long ago from the land of the Whiteman,
He saw my beautiful mother and became her number one fan,
Yet he is Why i am on the run.
Because after a few weeks of being forced into a "Semester" bed,
The truth showed in his character and the life he led.
Liquor, coke plus the smoke he puffs out of his head.
My mum would protest but continually shut up by elders that were cheaply fed,
Until when she was put in a state, almost left her dead.
I slowly grew up watching my mother's belly grow bigger by the day,
At that time i thought she eats too much out of her way,
Until that day when i heard her shouting cries from on the ground where she lay,
Drenched in her own blood "PLEASE STOP" was the only thing she struggled to say.
For this reason i am on the run,
With the actions i left back home, this is a journey of no return.
I start to feel another bruise from jumping over a two meter fence,
In my attempt to escape from these men who search for me in silence.
I remember standing there watching my helpless mother gasp for air,
The heartless "Semester" held her throat and stood right there,
Swaying to the sides as he grabs his fingers through my mother's hair.
I turne to the frying pan that was left heating dinner,
Aimed for his head..., i aimed for his head and threw at the sinner.
The rest of the story i struggle to put together,
Because as i run to escape from these men,
I run,and run, and run till i ran out of ink,
So hand me a pen.
PLEASE!!!!
Copyright © Abdoullah Jaiteh | Year Posted 2017
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