If I could become a little child again,

I would revisit my home.

That land flowing with milk and honey.

That fertile land of picturesque greeneries,

And springs of placid waters,

Cascading the rough slopes of verdant hills.

That land of low-lying plains that stretch far,

To where the sky kisses the trees.

That land embroidered in an attire,

Of endless sunshine and bedazzling beauty.

I would revisit the rivers,

And revel in their tranquil slithers,

Like a thousand giant pythons,

On the hunt for prey.

If I could become a little child again,

I would call round my playmates,

To bathe under the rain.

Singing, “Rain, rain come down, potter, potter go up”.

And at night, when the full moon is abroad,

We would play “ouuui”,

Our local game of hide-and-seek.

A game that brought out the fugitive in me;

Hiding here and there in dark corners,

Like the adventurous Liberian child, I was.

If I could become a little child again,

Oh, my beloved mama,

I would run back into your arms!

For, I swear, I miss their warmth.

I miss your conjuring lullabies,

That invoked sleep into my stubborn eyes.

But most of all, I miss being your last born.

And I swear I wouldn’t cause you any nuisance,

If I could become a little child again.

This was written by our contributing writer, Emmanuel Gleekia.