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Best Poems Written by Albert Boima

Below are the all-time best Albert Boima poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Albert Boima Poem

We Starve

Like in a dungeon we live
Full of hostility and high charges of stuffs
With no sign of induction and reduction
As if we were victims of famine
The rainbows of intercession speak not 
And the markets missing their right positions
In our little wages we battle with the economy
But it seems it's overcoming us
Starve! Starve!! Starve!!!
We the people starve!

Our entrusted statesmen speak in silence
And the self-absorbed merchants trade-off
Not knowing their fiats would fix some aspects.
Sometimes, we reason if for any cause to choose
Or are there not bona fide folks in the bar to judge?
Because we are hungry and weary!
It has drowned us in the sea devoid of hope and confidence to live
For we are afraid to face the fate.
Starve! Starve!! Starve!!!
We the people starve!

O' yes, we cry for a transformation
So that we can dance as a generation.
The economy has become tougher,
That if a head earns a thing— to feed his parts
It'll be of no satisfaction.
Insomuch that this is happening, we are done with no good:
But some are seduced to unlawful acts;
While some are willing to chide till eternity.

If ethics drive into our predicament,
We shouldn't be starved:
Our need calls for an earthly saviour
Who could bestow us redemption
For we starve.
Starve! Starve!! Starve!!!
We the people starve.

Details | Albert Boima Poem

The Morning Star of Love

My eyes glittered into the eyes
Of thee who cast a spell on my heart 
They glanced each other with pleasure 
Upon hearing thy contralto voice,
Or seeing thy sight;
Thy presence in all:
I smiled with passion.
Under the proximity of the roof we communicated.
At last, we settled our funny dating.

We watched not each other of fear,
But overshadowed by the confidence of love 
We, albeit the impediments enhanced from outsiders,
Loved our dear selves innately.
Didn't they say we aren't fit to be dearer?
Bravo! that we hearkened not unto them.
My love for thee exceeded the heights of the stars—
Which could not be succumbed to fall.

Aye, our love was no fancy
'Twas agapic as the natural world itself
We both couldn't say we loved each other!

Balanced unto that time
Not till when some other person,
In his calibration incomparable to mine,
Bewitched my thee to make her fed up with me
Our love, therein, became fancy,
Thus, fancy! 'cause we were no longer dearer.
It went deep to my faith!
I thereafter realized the troth of the saying:
"The beginning of Trust is the end of Deception."

Details | Albert Boima Poem

Corrupt Farm

Corrupt farm, disdainful politics
Corrupt farm, unedifying ethics

The Lion gorges the subservient animals but not grass page
Or even does he gobble other feeds in the forest sage

The pronghorns fight it hard to progress
And they feed with apprehension and distress.

When they do require of the Lion—
To give a good reason why he devours them like any minion,

He reminds them of being "The King of the Jungle"
So he continues his diabolical project as a noble.

The grass and fowls of the air remain spared
'Cause no, not sufficient antelopes to make them seared.

The foreign vipers intrude awry
With an acclamation of being their profound territory 

But they have come with the interest of politics
Dirty politics!

So they play it well, even more than the crown himself.
These adders bite the innocent beasts of their treasures to will of self.

With the injection of putridity and selfishness 
Their anchor of theft and greediness.

Corruption drinks poverty!
All because of a bad conductor of no hearty.

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Sweet Melody

Pure as she is, sweet as she is
The beauteous Portia of my dream
With her anchor of roses
Conceived by her body of harmony.
The velvety of her skin I sink
Soft like fresh-ripe melon
Unsullied as perfect Swan
Which encapsulates beauty and love.

Adorned she in her customary apparel
The pride of Africa
She: the citadel of virtue
The Hyena of my land
African woman: her glorious symbol
With her countenance like a beam of light
Which scintillates my nights to bear.

I call her black woman, but pure black
My candle is ignited by her dulcet tales
I hail you, precious woman
The morning star of beauty
The Barnadeth of mankind.

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Be Mindful Sierra Leoneans

Bad, worse and worst we grow, oh poor Sierra Leoneans
We seem to know our rights, but honestly we do not;
Instead we misunderstand them:
How can we fight for our rights against one who defends them?

Our situation is escalating to its peak.
We are damn harming ourselves, and not the upright man!
How folly is this thought:
To wander about the street in the name of demonstration?

For I tell you: we are destroying our little development.
If ethics would permit me to speak,
We are not prudent to do such!
And you, Mr. upright man, 
You ought to patronage your people

In their impediments and hardship;
And not to add to their problems.
Uniform men, control your frigging weapons!

You were not employed to murder
But to defend and secure.
In all, we are all guilty—
None is exempt!
Let us be mindful about our country's future.

Details | Albert Boima Poem

The School of My Heart

Many years gone from her birth since nineteen sixty-four
With hard work she got into her stride
Trinity, in her name, expanded and gained prestige.

Intermutanda, Constantia: her motto
An implication of consistency in academic excellence
In her form is excellence prevailed
Imparture of knowledge to empty little boys
As to the Messiah's impartment to his disciples
Before leaving the Earth.

Her form as mother to her virtuous boys
Nurturing their daily school work— the best 
With the fear of God excellent they go.
Ergo the performance of her boys is excellent
With regards to her belief.

In her shadow delights the success of life
With allegiance her boys return, thus,
An appreciative symbol— for the work Holy Trinity has enlightened unto them
United they come, same they go.

Trinity: the school with dignity of all schools
The Best in the country
All others seem to be better, but
Holy Trinity possesses the Best.

Details | Albert Boima Poem

The School of My Heart

Many years gone from her birth since nineteen sixty-four
With hard work she got into her stride
Trinity, in her name, expanded and gained prestige.

Intermutanda, Constantia: her motto
An implication of consistency in academic excellence
In her form is excellence prevailed
Imparture of knowledge to empty little boys
As to the Messiah's impartment to his disciples
Before leaving the Earth.

Her form as mother to her virtuous boys
Nurturing their daily school work— the best 
With the fear of God excellent they go.
Ergo the performance of her boys is excellent
With regards to her belief.

In her shadow delights the success of life
With allegiance her boys return, thus,
An appreciative symbol— for the work Holy Trinity has enlightened unto them
United they come, same they go.

Trinity: the school with dignity of all schools
The Best in the country
All others seem to be better, but
Holy Trinity possesses the Best.

Details | Albert Boima Poem

What If He Appears

What if He appears
As the trumpet cheers
With a train of angels
When judgment labels;
Will you hear that saintly sound?
What will you be?
Mortal forever, or immortal eternally?
Where will you be?
At the bar, the club
Or in the Church?

What if He appears
The Son of Man
In heavenly adornment
With lightnings and all glory;
Will your life attract that call—
To stir you up unto Himself?
Will you fit to sing in the light's space?
Or are you sure to enter into that palace?

What if He appears
With all power unto Him
That upholds and withholds
The devils' ancestry;
Will you, if being dead, resurrect;
And if being alive, rapture?
Or, I see, you may have fallen short!

What if He appears
In His Royal Majesty
As the scriptures said
Of that certain day
Will He say “depart, I know ye not!”.
Are your ways right?
Will your soul cry or sing for joy?
Where will you stand?
On Hell's soil?
O’ the faithful saints shall stand on Heaven's rock!

Details | Albert Boima Poem

Breed Not Violence

How worthless is he who paves violence:
Is not he who bewilders the land of peace?
With his thoughts, moulding it to corrupt the people;
In the interest of satisfying himself.

But I tell you: violence spells complete anarchy!
Of that land: will development be prevented,
In the face of unaccountability;
Bad reputations altogether.
It steals the land of peace with and love for one another.

O but if, we in this, can change our forceful acts,
And be submissive to the norms of the land,
Shadowy we in the ink of joy.
I beseech you the people of land—
To watch and set your minds off violence—
For the growth of our region.

Let us march not with the shoe of violence
Rather the shoe of love and equanimity, I pray!
Worthless is he who paves destruction,
And worthy is he who resists it;
Indeed, choose:
Worthy or worthless are you?

Details | Albert Boima Poem

Not Stabbed Neither Poisoned Nor Sick

He was clamored dead!
Without being stabbed,
Without being poisoned,
Without being sick:
The angels' arch summoned him 
To see the Heavens and Hell
And samples of judging the just and the unjust.

He was diabolical in deeds!
Defining himself to be the Sun that shines
The comments proved he deserved such a decampment.
“Sing! the snob who did us turpitude has travelled," they retorted at the scene.
His body was demanded for a quick burial
But a few prayed to wait it till the next sunup.
The eyes of revenge were gravely opened!

Then, at down, in the sixth hour,
The heavenly bodies and hemispheres implored for an amnesty of chance
And Gabriel gave heed to their plea
Charging him to be reputable.
At mercy the masterful soul revisited its flesh
It behoved him to repair the very engine of his life.