This Room Called Liberia
This room called Liberia is like a sinners bench; for corruption has become the greatest common factor among kinsmen. Historically, she has conceived, but poetically split her belly, and see, it’s an understatement!
This room called Liberia is like elephant meat; they arrived in the caption of patrons, but our soil is dancing with death. They snatched our taxes and budgets, and fade our sass with a soliloquy, yet entertainment centers and women, fabricate our nation's wealth.
This room called Liberia is like Sodom and Gomorrah. Many are proprietors of tears. Many give birth to a nervous night. Many marvels with a dreadful accent, but still, “uncle X” cannot upgrade his intuition.
This room called Liberia is like poison. Kids born today are drowned with requiem; their trunks crushed like an accident car, their destinies are but creamed with lies, still, they documented our lives in a museum of death. O, awful people, we’ve today bathed our future in an empty sardine cup!
©Gabriel S. Weah
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