Like a sculptor chipping away at bits of wood,

Time chisels away bits of their memory

It strips away lyrics of the song of the women of my land

Leaving only a fading tune echoing the song,

they sang in the forlorn fields

about their lives; songs

of how they ploughed the terrain of their mindscape;

for memories of lyrics lost in the vast void of time

in those days when a song beheld their lives;

when servitude cuffed the ankles of their soul,

and dereliction decapitated the epic of their lives.

With a song, they sponged off their anguish,

to behold their collective pain,

to celebrate their gains,

give lyrics to the tune of their lives,

cheat the tyranny of time,

and commune with the yet unborn

to give meaning to an epoch lost in antiquity,

Yet time strips the lyrics and scars the tune,

leaving a dying song


Like the women who died long ago,

Leaving the song to tell the story of their lives

Today the tune roams the forlorn fields

Like their souls looking for lyrics

To tell the tale of the servitude

Of the women my land

Who ploughed their soil and soul

For a song to sing the story of their lives

The song of the women of my land

left in the memory of the wind.

Now feeding the verses of poets, it echoes in fields

Wriggling in rhythms and melodies,

Hollering in distant tunes

In places Far aField From the Forlorn Fields,

where the song of their lives died.

The stuttering lips of my pen

And the screeching voice of my nib

try to sing the song of the women of my land

In verses Far From the theatre of toil

where they left a Song that now roams the land

stripped of lyrics like a scorned ghost.

The tune tuning the tenor of my verse,

is all that remains of the song of the women of my land

Who labored and died leaving a dying song:

The dirge of their lives!


Read the Analysis of The Song Of The Women Of My Land Poem By Oumar Farouk Sesay HERE.

Write A Comment