Poem: Dear 60 Year Old Me

Who are you?

Me!

Is your name still Arabic for “praised”

Or have you changed it to something you chose and Mum doesn’t find praiseworthy?

Is she even alive, or am I presuming too much?

Do you reckon you still need more protein?

Have your creative works created the re-working of culture I always wanted?

Has my first true love become your only true love?

Is Gambia a good place to visit or live?

Are you sporting that sexy silver mane I like so much?

Has Caricom made Caribbean economy sovereign?

Are Love & Self-Respect replacing Christianity & Islam

As the world’s largest religions?

Do you speak English anymore

Or have you undergone a full language transplant to an African tongue?

Yeah I am asking a lot

So I’ll change it up with some demands:

Tell me you’ve not settled for what you can do

But making good on what you want to do.

Be stinking rich, materially as well as spiritually.

You better look good for a sexagenarian.

Anyhow your kids didn’t have happy childhoods

I will get the snip.

Cool? Cool.

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