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The song of the women of my land 

Learning English and Literature
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The African poem mourns the fading songs of the history and bravery of African women during the Colonial era. The Poet's use of imagery in portraying the themes is splendid.

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19 сен 2024

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Комментарии : 6   
@Umarsesay-ko3jm
@Umarsesay-ko3jm Год назад
The historical context makes this appreciation stands out among the many. Simply brilliant.
@learningenglishandliteratu6541
@learningenglishandliteratu6541 2 года назад
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@sapphirekids8811
@sapphirekids8811 2 года назад
I love the combination of literature and history here. Good job.
@quesiansah2508
@quesiansah2508 2 года назад
Good interprétation, easy to understand and capture. Well done Man.
@oumarsesay5068
@oumarsesay5068 Год назад
Y THE SONG OF THE WOMEN OF MY LAND Posted on 11 Apr at 4:14 am By Oumar Farouk Sesay Like a sculptor chipping away at bits of wood, Time chisels away bits of their memory It strips away lyrics of the song of the women of my land Leaving only a fading tune echoing the song, they sang in the forlorn fields about their lives; songs of how they ploughed the terrain of their mindscape for memories of lyrics lost in the vast void of time, in those days when a song beheld their lives; when servitude cuffed the ankles of their soul, and dereliction decapitated the epic of their lives. With a song, they sponged off their anguish, to behold their collective pain, to celebrate their gains, give lyrics to the tune of their lives, cheat the tyranny of time, and commune with the yet unborn to give meaning to an epoch lost in antiquity, Yet time strips the lyrics and scars the tune, leaving a dying song Dead! Like the women who died long ago, Leaving the song to tell the story of their lives Today the tune roams the forlorn fields Like their souls looking for lyrics To tell the tale of the servitude of the women of my land Who ploughed their soil and soul For a song to sing the story of their lives The song of the women of my land left in the memory of the wind. Now feeding the verses of poets, it echoes in fields Wriggling in rhythms and melodies, Hollering in distant tunes In places far afield from the forlorn fields, where the song of their lives died. The stuttering lips of my pen And the screeching voice of my nib try to sing the song of the women of my land In verses far from the theatre of toil where they left a song that now roams the land stripped of lyrics like a scorned ghost. The tune tuning the tenor of my verse, is all that remains of the song of the women of my land Who laboured and died leaving a dying song: The dirge of their lives! Note: I reposted the poem because of a typo instead of the memory of the wind ,mind is put instead .
@learningenglishandliteratu6541
Oh... Thank you so much.