|Philip Yamba Thulla was born in Lunsar, Port Loko District, Northern Province of Sierra Leone. He attended the Huntingdon Secondary School and later the Freetown Teachers' College where he attained the Higher Teachers Certificate in Primary Education. After teaching for some time, he matriculated at the Njala University College, University of Sierra Leone and obtained a Bachelor of Arts degree in Education. presently, he is pursuing a master of Arts degree in education (Literature) at Njala University and is a teacher in literature at the Methodist Boys' High School.|
A Strange Will
From Jui hailed a policeman,
To taste the bite of a bullet was his plan;
He shot his leg with a gun,
And the next day he was gone.
A strange will though, but it came from this man.
Cholera is such a consumptive illness
That makes people lose their greatness.
It dehydrates you,
And you lose your pride too.
Shame-faced you face your grave, no
matter your cuteness.
Some Meeting Places
By the river that sits at the end of the plain,
Their secret grove roundly unfurl'd.
Marked by dead leaves caused by entwin'd hands and
That place once a thick shrub cover'd.
That shrub has long since been transform'd;
So also 're the trees us'd as shields;
Every piece a sign in their minds inform'd;
A seat they set, bright leaves and flowers for
That tree-on that very spot,
Her swain waited-their arrang'd tryst,
They spoon all evenings with all the energy they got,
Free from bedlam, the world offers, at least.
Now that he's gone-that fateful night;
She shrinks, herself she embraces,
Memories brought to life by the sight;
Memories, so great, in the mist of some meeting
And She Finally Called (on the event of a friend's experience)
And she finally called,
In the middle of the hall,
Busy though and noisy of course,
It took a different course.
Though the flickering film t'was she I saw,
So regal and rare, she healed my sore,
My past remembered and my days returned.
She asked me for my doll,
And that's the pun-.
My lad and lady is all I got,
But a pal in the cine is all I want.
She confesses, truly confesses,
My little blemish in all her senses.
Trumpet faults! I wish t'were once again
True I 'd have given you all my life.
It is not and I'm tied,
With two, so dear to take a ride.
In my heart your tender voice does grow,
A solitary lady, I used to know.
Your intentions are flattering and I'm confused
Baby I'm in rapture and it does hurt
To refuse one I so desire.
Society and the Childless
With great tenderness, she passed piteously by the
Wrapped in uweilding thoughts, one unfathomed.
Censored eyes beamed at her already wrinkl'd skin and
Once society's Ally, now her scorn, condemn'd.
With forty years of legal but sterile copulation, she's been
brand'd a witch,
Dress'd in swears, scathing remarks her ear buds.
She is punish'd by society when a soul is lost, prevent'd to
torch people a stitch.
Befriending only toads and birds.
Blessed Are You
This is for you lovers of the earth;
Peacemakers, whose avow'd interest's in man's
The bright moon and glowin'
Sun shall brighten,
Thy paths and lengthen thy days.
Friends of the diminutives;
Lovers of the disadvantag'd;
And the vulnerable; mortgag'd
Are the lives of your concerns,
Set 'em free with esprit hands;
Tenderness shall be the eyes of God for you
Wild life conservers whose task
's to help save primates-
In the quietness of the woods, bask
Under the sun and flakes; inmates
You seek by brooks, up hills,
In the caves and vales,
In the wilderness and plains;
Soothin' hands shall enfold, whiles
Enliven'd w'th everlasting breads.
Let's live in harmony with ourselves
And animals, w'th barely enough to eat nor beds.
What does the future hold-its helpless,
If we tatter around and even ourselves,
There sits, in ready, the hearse.
This Is the Spot
This is the spot,
Where it all happen'd,
In the midst of the confusion, people watch'd the dot
It left - the centre, yes it lingers
The crowd disappear'd;
People back'd away and clos'd their doors,
Vehicles stopp'd, cars hoot'd-traffic jamm'd;
No one dar'd look at the pools.
Here she was entrapp'd;
The air became still; the sky gray;
Hands smear'd, breath ceas'd.
Depart in sorrow-what a bad day;
That day, ten years ago, yet tears on cheeks freely roll'd.
This is yet another mourning,
A higgledy-piggledy, a holocaust?
Ladies mask'd in grannies' cast,
Heading down the dark stream, scampering in vain,
Vulnerable in the hands of implacable brutes
On this ruined town, canons blast'd firings like
drops of rain.
Where will my first meal be bought?
Suddenly I realized, God I thought of you,
When the morning was so terrible,
And things couldn't be cut into two.
Things would 've been better, if in this way I was able,
But the period was so bleak and gloomy,
Caus'd by dirty looking groups in the guise of an
August fifteen, around one,
A fair sylph so loved and yearn'd
For, with all hopes,
Bestowed upon, when in real sobs.
Hypocritical cants to make me,
Frankly conceiv'd 're ones to mar me
't'was left untold in sleepless watches at one
When seen sneaking through doors
After her tryst in the dark with her dolls
Skittish though, but knew it will be that way,
When I gave her the pretender's sway.
Sycophants see not,
Their noses when they go down,
Flat in puddles - smear'd.
Games are exciting,
Games are frustrating,
Games bring people together,
Games put people asunder:
Yes! They give you friends,
And get you foes,
Games make you idols;
Games make you bulldogs,
Games can be funfairs,
Games give you nightmares,
Games make you grasp for breath,
Games make you get your broth,
Games make you sign autographs,
Games make you dig your graves:
Yes! they heal you,
And they kill you.
Games are 'patch'd' corns,
Games are pitch'd guns,
Games make you revel,
Games cause you to revile:
Yes! They cause happy crowds; ones populous,
Yet, ones rumpus.
Players, officials, fans,
Say what you will; they can be funs
But let games be games,
Don't make 'em graves
The Frame In My Gaze
It's a longtime now, yet it lingers,
The frame of dad-a dad long kill'd
Appears in my gaze, with head till'd.
A martinet, yet kind and loving,
There in Potoru, shot and shattered, his
For his care, for his support.
No one can attest to, nor books report,
In a distant village, the manner of death,
Gruesome so, the war's done,
And these fifteen years, the scene charges,
Time rolls, seasons come and seasons go,
Quislings change, enemies reconcile,
Peacekeepers rap up -duty accomplished.
Dad's gone, things are static.
The Very Essence
Now the timid steps toward,
The innermost alter,
Brave steps willed from inward,
To be wedded, not to falter…
That is the very essence.
A simple step achieved at courtship,
With anguish, faith and long suffering,
Now a mammoth pace perceived by his Lordship,
Now a legal bond by purpose before God and
It is the very essence.
Now it's done but unfinished,
Still the greatest of all journeys
Which only patience and wisdom can complete,
With love. The words of God renew each and
The very essence of all.
Fiercely thrashing through,
Slashing what they met, my town
A ghost after which.
These are pallid; phantasmagoric and spacious,
They are arabesque; unjust and anomalous.
They 're morbid; sulfurous and incubus;
A monster of prodigious demeanor, robust,
Sagacious executors; peacocks with such malignity;
The seraphs of our society; the assassins,
Whose truths 're bent full of complexities.
Judicious they say; preposterous
To me- like this form, polixious- Our laws;
A solitary woman scourg'd by God and society,
Left at the mercy of her people,
People, stoical and uncouth- having regards only for a diety,
Oh! God, 't's only you that can right this ill and quell her trouble.
Oh! Little beetle,
Why did you allow yourself to be littled by tiny ants?
With such Mammoth body and sharp clippers could've
used your mettle,
To crush them all; you couldn't.
Oh! Little beetle,
How did you come to be caught by such slow creatures?
With so many legs you could've run and somewhere
Now you lie there impotent like in Gulliver's
You're not the dump sheep,
Cause you wav'd your only leg in defiance
You're not fighting, as you seem'd asleep
They dragg'd you to their holes, without you using
your only defense.
A guilty conscience is a mirror that reflects images,
Bringing to surface deeds done in ages;
Misfortune, disasters 're assailed destiny,
For men that belie sadness in pride;
Prides of negative nature 're insignias
On men with guilty conscience:
Innocent victims of dooms,
Denied of freedom,
Cocoons of wickedness
Within, reveal nakedness.
Nothin' could circumvent
Deeds guilty consciences invent.
T'll minds crack
Beings can't be in track
A 'Lumpen' Illusion
Hopes, aspirations, desires of the poor;
Are raised, cast down in mere imaginations
Like a confetti, down they pour.
The 'Lumpen' grumbles for unfulfilled aspirations.
To make up, he ask'd for a tin of oil,
To light his lantern.
There seem'd to be nothing beyond the soil,
Put the tin down to visualize in the damp.
"I'll sell this tin of oil
And buy two tins as gain,
That I'll not spoil,
As I'll buy a pint for my pain,
I'll sell that pint of oil to
Get more so soon.
Agile, shall I be to get a gallon, so
Merry in the noon.
I'll sell the gallon of oil so quick,
And get five gallons worth.
Waste no time for ten gallons, Dick!
Employ two boys; your pain to soothe.
Go in for more five gallons fast,
To the point of whole sailing.
Oil companies will entrust tanks at last.
Then shall I open an oil station, managing.
O! Dick the oil merchant! people look onto you,
But, I shall be mean - strict,
And eat stew.
If any one jokes with it, I shaall kick..."
Swinging his foot, spilling the oil.
O' there wasn't a thing that didn't respond,
When Dick kicked the tin oil in a pond.
The Palm Tree
Look! They come scampering:
Running over hills, through forests-sunburns;
Through swamps, and savanna plains.
From hamlets and squalid, bare foot,
On stumps they hurry,
To take what I use too;
Amidst thorns, broken branches,
Ant hills, tree snakes,
They take my fronds;
My wine they guzzle,
My nut they crack and drain my oil,
And take beetles too;
To mend broken fences, roofs of sticks,
And blur their reasoning,
But quell with broths.
To me they sing-vicious "politickin"
But eat beetles?
And that I know too.
She said goodbye and turn'd to go,
Promis'd not to come again,
Talkin' of the disappointment I caus'd her so
Terrible, she felt the pain;
The mountains she'd climb; the rivers she'd cross;
The barriers she'd break, no matter the cost,
My face, just not to see.
Is my fault so gross?
Of course made big, the sound of her out burst.
Well, it's done, I'm gone,
Good-bye love, we can't meet again;
I'll always think of you and all you've done,
May be time' ill soothe your pain.