Keith Neville Asumuyaya Best

Welcome to the Other Side of Roots

Keith Neville Asumuyaya Best, Liberia, Author, Writer, The Revelation, The Other Side of Roots, The Case of Liberia LAW - HISTORY- POETRY - SOCIAL JUSTICE - ALBERT PORTE - POLITICS, DISSIDENCE

Keith Neville Asumuyaya Best, Liberia, Author, Writer, The Revelation, The Other Side of Roots, The Case of Liberia LAW - HISTORY- POETRY - SOCIAL JUSTICE - ALBERT PORTE - POLITICS, DISSIDENCE

L I B E R I A

Keith Neville Asumuyaya Best, Liberia, Author, Writer, The Revelation, The Other Side of Roots, The Case of Liberia LAW - HISTORY- POETRY - SOCIAL JUSTICE - ALBERT PORTE - POLITICS, DISSIDENCE

SEPTEMBER 11
WORLD TRADE CENTER

One Nation, Now One Heart

They died . . . and we died too—
A part of us: our heart.
Yet, they went as though they knew
What their courage would impart
To the village: a new hue—
A fresh phase . . . a stronger start!

One by one, they took their cue.
As they faced the hate-filled fire,
Every smoke-filled breath imbued
All with a burning, new desire;

Those that waited in the ‘pews’
As Beamon “rolled” the fight on high,
Those that passed up life for others,
Those that braved the soothing sky,
Those that bared their breasts below
As fiery darts rained from the sky,
Those that kept the faith, entombed
Beneath the smoldering funeral pyre:

They paid the price—their due—
To ignite a broader start;
They bonded us anew,
A sterling work of art;
They were the ‘chosen few,’
Forged us a steely heart
No fire can assail
With Him we will prevail.
© Keith N. A. Best, October 11, 2001

POETRY · HISTORY · REALITY
Of Sycophants and PRCophants

September 9, 1990, Samuel Doe lay tied, mutilated (his two ears and genitals reportedly removed by Johnson and his men), and slowly bleeding to death. Only by that dramatic 1980 turn of events that swept an undernourished, semi-literate to power in the first place could Doe’s sudden reversal of fortune be rivaled. The once-celebrated hunter had made no real effort to avoid the trap that only a decade before, had snared him.

That giant beast, the elephant^*
(Who), over the land held sway:
He reveled in his power,
Great strength he did display.

He dreamed of years of plenty,
He feasted night and day.
In banks, beneath planks,
in safes and graves,
He stashed his cash away.

But then one day the hunter
Got ready for the hunt.
Though young, his back from labor bent
He straightened with a grunt.

No need to stalk the elephant
Who, in great comfort napped:
One swift move by the hunter
And the snoring beast was trapped.

—
The people cheered the hunter
As he strutted up and down
With the elephant before him,
They marched to ‘end of town.’

The people jeered the elephant.
They challenged it to rage.
No more to feast, the silent beast
Was pushed into a cage.

—
In days, a state of soberness
The elephant did reach:
Unmoved, the brazen hunter
Took a farther step to teach

That ‘blind is retribution’:
Goes ‘round from each to each—
The hunter strapped the elephant
And shot it on the beach.

—
Before the fatal bullet
Took his wretched life away,
The elephant did defecate
Upon himself that day;

The filth rolled down his hairy legs,
The sweat poured down his back.
The salty tears from his eyes
Made puddles in his tracks.

All day a queasy ocean
A watchful distance kept;
The filth left on its beach that day
It just would not accept.

By night, an uneasy ocean
Began to howl and roar;
It reared into a tidal wave
And swept upon the shore.

The filth, the guilt, the slime the grime,
The ocean swept them back.
The wind picked up the foul fumes,
To town it blew them back.

So they’re here again—the evils—
That once before did taunt us:
Ignorance and greed, sycophancy,
They are here again to haunt us.

*Symbol of the then-ruling True Whig Party

© Keith Neville Best