59

I miss you so much
I find you in the places you are not
Like by the beach whose sand is Gravel
Where the tide is too high
And the people are not your children
Trying to remember what it's like
To taste the cool air
And scream songs into the sky
What it's like to bury my feet in your White grains
As a herd of horns decorate the Atmosphere
Each with her own meaning

I miss the feeling of the sun beaming
On the land beneath the equator
In the town dubbed free
Because our ancestors called it home
Land that we love of hustlers who Aren't bound by 9-5

And o how I miss your food
From d bread en binch with plantain En akara
To d sour sour en d bitas
Da jollof or d wan pot or d Kankankan by bottom mango
I miss smelling flavour at every turn

Oh mama Salone
Home is where the heart is but my Heart is torn
Born of the 3 lions, raised by the lion Mountains
R nr tap na ose so me noto homebase
But you too familiar for make r b JC
Caught between calling you heritage And home
Struggling to understand what it Means to be your child
When you are The land that I love But no longer the Land that I know

And they say that absence makes the Heart grow fonder
And it must be true
Because I've been more in love
Since I last saw you

And every time that I doubt my place
I let my mind wonder to you
To the coarse greens of the Mountains
Which touch the sky
Or the deep greys of granite
Broken down with the monotone Swing of steel on stone
I miss you

I miss you so much
I find you in the places you are not
Like in my lungs when breaths are Deep
Or in the rain which comes at the Wrong time of year
Yet you are mama
So your bosom extends beyond your Borders
And I find you in the diaspora
On my timeline
In the vibes from Freetown city...

O mama Salone
At 59 mama
You dae age lek fine wine mama
The Athens of West Africa...
Sierra Leone