26

        Day and night are yours.

Hours, minutes,seconds make the law.

For my part, I only have my faith; says a wise to Marie.

We have faith only when we believe in it, do you believe in it ?

Monkeys adore dancing to the sounds of the tam-tam.

         So let the tam-tam play!🥁

   (One believes, when one sees it)

        Belief before perspicacity.

Believe me, my dear daughter;

I saw monkeys dancing without a drum.

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Silence knows you


Stay awake, well planted on your feet

Be present there, where you are

Look around you

Without putting a name, a state, a speech,

On what you perceive, nearby and in the neighborhood,

See light, shapes, people, colors

Removes error, judgments, odors,

Everything has a taste, and carries a rhyme

Meaning the presence that animates them

Even the object that seems useless


Everything has its interest

Everything has been created

In life, in love or pain

And even if you approach one day

Something that resembles conflicts

Who weighs you, who is heavy

Listen, sense the energy that flows

Even if you can not see it

And that seems ridiculous

Try a little bit


Do you really dive in?

In this strange, this ocean

Who pushes you forward

See what is hidden in detours

This might sound like a desire

A desire for life

Even in the confines of suffering,

The silence knows you

It is not very far from you

You will hear his voice

If you stop a little

Maybe you could see him,

Can be with your eyes

Then you will stay there, well planted on your feet

Look at him.

  • When I took my pen in hand, I had no idea of what to write about. But, I feel like writing something. So, I stayed silent for an hour and a half ruminating. Suddenly, I came with this imagination seeing myself talking to Mr. Silent. He stayed silent as if he knows every words I was going to say. We did not talk at all but we had a really great conversation, I learned from him that by ruminating we permit ourselves to be more open to things and also it is not what you see that count but what you perceive . Nowadays, the majority are people who like/dislike the title of the book without reading it. My poem has also a psychology meaning lol do not worry ”I’m not trying to get into your mind”. Allow silence to do that, trust me he will not say a word. He knows what privacy means, your secret will be safe with him. He is a genius dumb, who uses telepathy to communicate. He and I are good friends now. He gives me ideas, I write it down. 

ADAMA KONATE 

The vision of a thinker

The president has fallen, I wonder? 

The earth has become a village

The news spreads in a single click

The life of the president became a film.

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye superficial ornament

Disappears under the crackles 

Indiscreet lights and feathers.

They deliver us through the body

Impact and corruptible from the womb

The primitive animal impulses 

Revealing another facet of the President.

Despairing and degrading spectacle 

Of a false image fashioned Into the crowned lie

The court of the president vomits his hypocrisy.

Like a propitiatory victim 

The president is led to purgatory

 Does he call for help in humility, so that his soul may leave the dust? 

From the four corners of the earth 

Flock victims humiliated and flouted Scandal insult in the face of the president adorned with contempt the chef takes place.

Illusionists and conjurers enter the track to do justice like a play known beforehand 

What happened in this room?

I watched the president appreciate his victory.

 A question crossed my mind 

Since the real victims are elsewhere. 

Is not the president’s wife the most to be pitied? 

Behold the affliction of the sons of righteousness. 

It is greater the affliction that affects the daughters of the republic. 

Proud governor, you have endangered your dwelling because you have chosen the devil’s share.


• Last night, I stayed awake writing this poem. Recent events makes me cogitate a lot.

”To the Freedom of Speech.”


 ADAMA KONATE 

IF LIFE IS A DREAM


If life is a dream

Why torture me?

I can get drunk without remorse

And if I come to stagger

I will fall asleep under the porch of my home

When I wake up a bird sings among the flowers.

I ask him what day we are.

He answers: in the spring,

The season when the bird sings!

I feel strangely moved

And ready to blow me out.

But I return to drink

And I sing all day long

Until the evening moon appears.

And when my songs are silent

I am no longer conscious of what surrounds me.

Tears

The sea at the edge of the eyelashes; 

Ravishing your eyes with a shade of bitterness; 

Thought that overflows the vase of your sadness; 

One drop falls; ‘; 

Sliding along your cheek and slipping between your lips. 

Bitter salt; 

Like the pain that gnaws at you. 

Then another; ‘; 

This one is also salted. 

Then two others; ‘; ‘

An ocean around you; 

You swim;

 In fear ; 

 Alone ; 

You float then you run;

 Slowly ; 

You are drowning; 

You die ; 

By being always so alive; 

You disappeared ; 

But I see you; 

You are sinking; 

In the air ; 

It’s finish ; 

At the bottom of the ocean ; 

You fled.


ADAMA KONATE

Confidence of an Immortal Part.2

I consent boastful that you can look at me,
However, it is utopian to keep me.

Do not wait for me in the pitfalls of the turns,

My path is right and devoid of torment.

Do not multiply me by penalties on tortures,

I am an absorbing element of nature.

You will deprive me of walking and studying,

But never to advance, to know and to pray.

You can cut short my health and gas,

But never to my influence and existence.

I do not underestimate your fortress,

I admit that you are as hard as my weakness

As long as you have divorced with pity

To preach the idolatry of enmity.

You have tried in vain to promote the indigestible,

I remain flexible, clairvoyant and modest.

Speak to me I remain an eloquent mute.

Visit my ego, discover a conscious madman.

Wolves follow your animosity,

The world melts, so you sell your fraternity.

Take back your conscience, do not kill the immortal,

Who speaks to you is not a man as such.

Intimate antagonist; Do not persist,

It is high time to get rid of the wrong steps.

You have made yourself ladder of the poor subordinates,

Let them climb, do not make them look dull,

Do not block your stifled voices

Of those in boiling oil are heated.

Be sagacious and perspicacious to find that:

Humanism will only cost you altruism.

Wildness is woven with selfishness.

Submission to the law is a precious gift.

Honor and glory crown pardon.

With amenity one can be tamed

Thus will occur the expected unity.

As for my ancestors whose life you shortened,

I have made a clean sweep of every crime committed.

I forgave you.


ADAMA KONATE

Confidence of an Immortal #P.1

I want to shout out loud to the deaf voluntarily

Whoever refuses to listen to me wants to be silent.

This explosive defuses the boy.

Who makes war his beloved ornament.

This ax hurts the obstinate heart

All enchanted to see my person mined.

This extinguisher calms the inflamed spirits

Pretended to injure my lame reputation.

You! Waterproof core, hive without door;

How dare you to swell like that?

For a long time you have been ecstatic with my sobs,

Your blows assail me in my retreat on the island.

My tears drove you like a picturesque fall,

Nevertheless, my Lord liquefies your soldiery.

Your wickedness amplifies my love,

Your ferocity stimulates my affection,

Far from inciting me to reactions of violence,

Your eccentricities rinse my tolerance.

You made my patrimony your medal

And I have always ignored reprisals.

You strut in the sumptuous castles

Whose pillars are we; Beggar with unctuous hearts.

If you knew who hoisted you on this great throne,

You would become a good woman and I would be your patron.

In spite of the hymn on the theft of my due,

My silence keeps you constantly hanging.

Reason duly, do not do the seraph *!

Know that your hegemony is not endless.

(Is it that)

The sky gave me full freedom

Allow me to face you with pride.

You hate me, I agree with my colleague,

But your limits on me are very clear;

Take away my eyes, my soul will see thee,

And he will set you up as he pleases.

Undoubtedly, it is your rights to see me,

Yet you are not likely to have me.

ADAMA KONATE

America

To America, 

The mother of the proud warriors of colors 

Who by their wisdom and courage 

Have made her a queen.

To America, to this torch that my grandmother holds on the edge of the distant river.

The torch of independence, the independence of your territory.

The torch of freedom, the freedom of your children. 

The torch of prosperity, the prosperity of humankind.

The torch of heritage,

That the vast expanses of this old continent offer you in the golden cities 

And mythical countries of Eldorado, 

Norembergue and Saguenay.

The torch that never extinguishes.

Held by the hand of the victory.

To America, my America of whom sings my grandfather on the banks of the distant river

I never knew you but my gaze is full of your blood

The blood of your sweat, 

The sweat of your work,

The work of slavery,

The bondage of your children

America tell me America. 

Is it you the most powerful bird that by its greatness and its capacity has made its nest on the moon.?

This white headed bird 

Who reaches the inaccessible and meditates on the impossible.

Then gently a reassuring voice answered me:

Impetuous Girl this robust and young bird 

That bird splendidly up there 

Away from prying eyes

Looking for shelter near the blue and cold river 

It’s America, your America that flies,

That flies over latitude attentively 

And whose wings are determined to go far, far into the future. 

Can you see it now?

No. 

Well, this is America.
ADAMA KONATE

The ploughman

Work, make the effort:

It is the fund that lacks the least.

A rich ploughman,

Feeling his approaching death,

Sent for his children,

Talked to them without witnesses.

Beware, he said,

Sell the heritage

That our parents have left us:

A treasure is hidden inside.

I don’t know the spot;

But a bit of courage

Will make you find it:

You’ll manage.

Turn over your field

As soon as we’re done with August

Dig, search;

Leave no place where the hand

Doesn’t go over and over.

When the father died,

The sons turn over the field,

Here, there, everywhere:

So that at the end of the year

It produced more.

No money was hidden.

But the father was wise

To show them before his death,

That work is a treasure.


#WRITTEN BY JEAN DE LA FONTAINE 

* I learned this poem in 2006 at the primary school in Bamako, West Africa. Poems were then recited at the Certificate of Primary Studies, declaiming them if possible, in order to obtain a better grade.  

This poem served me throughout my school career and in working life. It is a magnificent poem, educational and awakens consciences from a young age. 

Thank you Jean de la Fontaine. 🙂

Self. Esteem 



The days are gone painfully,

Without purpose, without joy,

Too slow,

A too heavy burden,

What a beautiful gift

That I have been dragging since childhood,

With constancy,

Prisoner of a sentence thrown at the chance of a discussion,

Who transformed my life into negation,

Who turned it off

As a candle is extinguished

In a forbidden breath.

But I have not finished shouting that I am,

Who I am,

I will make an ultimate foot-of-nose

To this life so measured,

Too well regulated,

I will not be what you expect,

I will fight to defend ideas,

That you may find footprints of too naive humanity,

Fists raised,

But with this serenity regained,

I will make my destiny

With the end,

Perhaps something crazier,

Moreover,

No more compromises,

Forgotten the image that we want to leave behind,

I will finally be Me,

Without faith or law,

With this joy of finally being recognized,

 I’ve been waiting so long …


ADAMA KONATE