Africa

Once a toddler, I was nurtured

and intoxicated with pure idealism

on the annals of your pristine glories

unpardonable grievances cruelly extorted

by your tryst with those twin brothers

beckoning tasseled packages of promises

dumped abruptly by your sated lovers

who were your deceivers from the start

you cover your nakedness with self-pity

reparations, dignity callously denied.

With tear stained voice I cried foul

like a wounded lion I prowled and lurked.

Now a teetotaler, I trudge the unbiased path of realism

the true foes seen in our own moral vices

heart cleansing hedged, procrastination embraced.

On this lonely crossroad I falter

as the morning sun of reality dazzled

and compelled me to calmly accept with a sigh

the unwillingness of the mirror’s verdict as the truth

an undiluted reflection of your ugly image.

But when I cry myself hoarse

Who will hear my weak voice?

The voice of our unfinished song

The song replete with much sorrow

The sorrow of our heavy hearts

The hearts of our young leaders

The leaders of our tomorrow

The tomorrow of our dear Africa

The Africa, our only true new Africa.

Like a phoenix rising from the crucible of dust

ascend the true throne of purged conscience.

Amuga

The nebulous whirlwind in the horizon

charted by the vertigo of technology

twirled and dazed my forefathers of old

to dance to strange whispering tunes

lost in the heightened tempo scuffles

Amuga became confused, convulsed and chased

my ancestors backwards to odd resettlements

to take stock, nurse imaginary and real wounds.

Aftermath triumphs over Akosombo and Kpong

unearthed the near stagnation of weakened Amuga

writhing in manacles of mud, slime and hyacinth

manure by the puke of looms of Akotex and Juantex

daring insatiate young swimmers and divers

harbingers of the dreaded cystitis blood in urine

my riverine people are hydrophobias overnight

the exodus of Tongu gold, afani-picking vocation.

Upstream at the Afram Plains and beyond

thick rain forests become man-made lakes

hunters now hunt in canoes on islands

their usual game helplessly marooned

kindle firewood is now fetched on water

half submerged stumps boats to capsize

many souls to swallow to swell the tears

savannah vultures now feed fat on water.

The quiet storm heaves a sigh of change

Battor and her sisters in North Tongu

now scratch their fingers on walls as

Dzidegbe flares the moonlight flees

the smooth coal tar ate the coarse gravels

Amuga, the world’s largest man-made lake

is now tamed and termed domesticated

but let us take stock of our good

that was replaced with their best.

Is it there all really is? Amuga whispers to me

Son do not flinch nor wince if Ogonied on the alter

such were the fate of your forerunners slain

now martyrs in the ecological tussles for nature