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Friday, December 31, 2010

For Sarah-My Mama Dear!

By:Ernest Garnark Smith,Jr.
O thou precious gem and pride of my life; many are the women on the face of mother earth, but distinctive and ONE in the billion are you in my life. Through frustrations, agonies and misfortunes of this world you gave birth to me and joyously watch me blossom. In the face of many adversaries, with love and care you envelop me always! 
Divorce is that diabolical word and event that tried detaching us for a good while
Yet you tirelessly made out times to see me whenever I was lonesome and left on my own. Every joyous moment of my life is your brightest moment and that I may succeed in the struggle you cease not to mention in your every little but fervent prayers. 

O Sarah! Can I pay for the noble perpetual services you render my soul? With gratitude I often relive my first day at school; O that Memorial Day embedded with my childish wail. Did I know that the virtuous Sarah was planting a dignified seed? My earnest quest for success in the Diaspora amidst fierce difficulties is an inherited trait from Sarah. 

All through my academic pursuit and life experiences I’ve studied, seen and spoken words, but can there be a word in its truest meaning that portray what I feel in the inside for you? Have I not subscribed to calling you “Mon-nee” because you’re my own amongst the billion mothers!
With humility, faith and self-reliant you clothed me! Respect for humanity you taught me; trust God for your needs and not wants, allegiance to your Mother’s Land, uphold norms and cultural values and exploit your natural potentials were phrases you recited at my bedside every night. 

O Sarah, my mother and woman of high caliber from whose breasts I sucked life; from whose citadel I begun, learnt values and grew. O blessed grand mom of Garnark and Garbleejay, how can we appreciate you for being our own? Yea mother of the orphan and destitute; like the rainbow your presence is cherished and adored. Mama, You’re prized! 

Author's note: 
The above poem is dedicated to my mom Sarah, my sisters and all loving mom worldwide!

Hopelessly Hopeful

By:Ernest Garnark Smith,Jr.

O yea meek catalyst of our rocky yet precious and destined hustle-Hope………………….
To the affluent you’re just but a mere and vague word………….
Reversely, to the troubled-hearted you’re the jewel with which we cope!

In the face of sweet adversaries and afflictions you’ve proven infinitely to be our sword
Amidst life’s rains, your shine is surest-we’re hopelessly hopeful…..
For a score plus seven years you kept Madiba alive under harsh favorable prison conditions!
Yes, today Mandela’s very name gives life and is loaded with global contagious admirations.
With an iota of you the hopelessly hopeful Garnark is graciously grateful…….

In the toughest of life’s storms, you taught us to faint not-we remain hopelessly hopeful!

The breast milk of humility and temperance you gave us and we’re stronger-I’m grateful.
So faithful are you that Track and many more hustlers you sustain and do so courteously…..
Ah Dieu, why won’t the faint-hearted see that with you the humble nobodies from nowhere excel wonderfully?

As Blessed breath forth, “Yes We Can” on that chilly and historic November night at Grant’s Park he was saying- be hopelessly hopeful!

Did you like me see the Dreamer of our generation MLK smile as his dream manifested in Hussein and Jesse’s eyes were tearful?
O hope, dearest hope; our tears in the hustles and bustles made us significantly hopelessly hopeful!
Hopelessly hopeful! Hopelessly Hopeful!! Hopelessly hopeful!!! Yea, hopelessly hopeful!

Author’s note:
The above poem is dedicated to all who are conscientiously striving to see and grace the face of Mama Success regardless of the obstacles. This poem is with immense passion sent out as a resurgence shout to that faint-hearted brotha or sistha who’s somewhere, somehow, someway engulfed by despondence and has given up, threw in the towel and is just hanging in there blank…………..


If I Live Again - A Proud Monrovian Liberian

By:Ernest Garnark Smith,Jr.

 Oh that fateful November afternoon; did I ever have a choice to make?
Could I have ever had a say concerning my humble birth?
Who told the pessimists that Destiny is partial?
Who dares question my cherished heritage and distinct identity?

That I was born 23rd November is a destined and blissful event……..
Yes, that circumstance surrounding my birth made me modestly distinct I appreciate!
That I’m the fruit of an affluent cultural heritage I valued becuz Divine providence is fair….
O sweet Liberia, becuz you’re the land of my pride and birth, I remain a free man even in the next world….

Halo the ghettos of Center and Gurley Streets-my precious breeding site and childhood domain; do you miss me?
Shame upon those who for decades gave up on all your youths………
Hey the friendly and quiet Palmgroove Cemetery-my childhood playground; it is true that you’re now beautified?
How’s that romantic union of the peaceful Atlantic Ocean and the calm Du-River at West Point-the greatest Key?
Can I still enjoy for free and pleasure that colonial view of Christopolis from Ducor?

Ha! Ha!!Ha!!!Garnark burst into laughter as he reflects on his then teen age’s Center and Gurley Streets lifestyle……..

Woe to the doubters of your youths’ potentials-let them note that Alijumah Toure, Mobutu Samuels, Garnark and many more grew up in your craggy ghettos but do transcend ghetto’s lifestyle……
In my youthful innocence the famous Palmgroove Cementary was my quiet and favourite play and relaxation resort….
O my childish bravery that enthuse me to fearlessly daily swim at that dreadful yet sensational point where the affectionate Du-River kisses the Atlantic Ocean with immense passion!
O how art thou fallen into ruin? Wonderful Ducor Palace Hotel and Hill, the city’s site seeing point, I miss you even in your wreck!

Can Garnark live again? O yes! If I live again!

If I live again, a proud Monrovian Liberian I yearn to be……
If I live again, a selfless November 23rd born I’ll be……..
If I live again, Garnark, my traditional name which depict my roots I’ll for life blessed value!
If I live again, my earnest wish-a proud Monrovian Liberian and humanitarian I beseech Destiny to divinely make me!

Author’s note: The above poem is dedicated to all youths worldwide who did not choose but had to grow up in ghettos and rugged environments but by Divine Destiny transcends the lifestyle of the ghettos and is meaningfully contributing their quotas to serve and revive humanity! It’s also a motivational verse and source of hope for the many more youths who are still languishing in rugged hoods and ghettos addicted to drugs, crimes and have given up on society, themselves and even God! Hey Brothas and fellas out there wake up; shake off the dust; buckle up your hustles and potentials boots; trust Him and work and press forward just a little harder-U can redeem the time! You’re Alive Again