If the hands of time could revolve,

I would journey back to those days,

When I felt nothing of the world,

To those days when I smiled with my heart,

And not because I wanted to impress the world.

I would journey back to those days,

When my innocence was an event of,

Jocund bliss and heavenly felicitations;

When, with childlike anxiety, I would gaze at the twilight sky,

In search of the crescent, new moon,

That resembled the harvesting sickle of my kinsmen.

And how, upon sighting it,

I would merrily sing a song of welcome to it;

Asking it to bring me good fortune,

And to bless my kinsmen with a bountiful harvest.

If the hands of time could revolve,

I would journey back to those days,

When my tasks of the day,

Was to eat and play;

When I was my mama’s chief concern,

Though it didn’t escape her lips,

But was visible in her strict,

And gentle care towards me.

When my mama would tell me those bedtime stories,

Of the tortoise and the avaricious spider;

Of the lion and the foolish hunter.

When she would pat me to sleep,

With those conjuring lullabies,

That possessed the power to infuse,

Slumbers into the eyes of a stubborn Liberian child.

If the hands of time could revolve,

Ah, I would journey back to those days,

When my home was beneath those lush rubber trees,

That stood in even columns and rows,

On flamboyant, grassy fields,

And rocky, low-lying hills.

Oh, home, sweet home,

Of dazzling sunshine and picturesque greeneries!

Oh, home, my home,

Where placid waters cascade,

The slopes of rocky hills,

Like crystal pythons humming a song of life and hope!

Oh, I miss those days!

Oh, my childhood, wherefore art thou!

Can I become a little child again?

Will I ever relive those memories?

This was written by our contributing writer, Emmanuel Gleekia.