Posts
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
My Learned Country be careful with you thoughts
The question is, what are the learned people in the country waiting for?
Is it not time they came out together to do something about the sparking fireworks of same-sex marriage?
And what are the legislators in Ghana waiting for?
Have parliamentarians lost focus or have they lost sight of their job specifications?
It is very pathetic to live in a country where people seem to know so much but really do not know anything. A country where so-called leaders are already fulled up with the brains of the White-man through his books and concerts. And now, are paralyzed to accept the changeable norms of the day as if they are unchangeable.
It is a big shame claiming to be independent yet wait for instructions as to what to do next.
Same-sex marriage is not only a threat to our moral standings and our historical bridging but also a huge unrest to the cohesion of African families. Not only a central condemnation of all the religions in the world but also a grave unrest to our future.
It is now or never if we as people of independent countries want to stand up and speak for ourselves.
Ghana needs to pass a bill that will foresee any future encounters that may rise up with regard to same-sex marriage becoming a part of us.
Uganda is so wise to have stood up. God bless Uganda and all the intelligent patriots in the land of Idi Amin.
Indeed Uganda to me is now the beacon of hope for mother Africa and not Ghana, Nigeria nor the biggest disgraceful Soweto.
Shame unto South Africa, the land which had betrayed the norms of Africa and had forgotten about her history. Nelson Mandela will never be at peace with you South Africa.
The history of South Africa is not complete if one is not told the history of other African nations and their helping struggle from Pan-africanism to the Liberation of the black man. So implies Ghana.
In the nutshell the history of S.A is not complete if the history of Africa is untold. If I cry for South Africa I cry for Africa.
Ghana should stand up and do something about the same-sex marriage lest it becomes too late and weep in awe.
The Judiciary has been described as learned fellow yet they behave as though they were brought from the woods.
There are many things on my mind, the injustices and the unfair treatment toward the weak and the vulnerable in the society. The slow and the traditional way of handling cases in the courts of law. The abuse of power by the security agencies and the over-empowerment of the President of the republic of Ghana. All in the name of our bogus-like 1992 constitution.
Let the elders of the land stand up and see to the passage of the same sex bill into law when they call for its drawing. And let the most influential opinions leaders, chiefs and all the like minded persons of patriotic hearts stand up for the future of mother Ghana. Because if the nation suffers we suffer with it and if the nation prospers we as well prosper. My learned country be wise and realize that well done is better than well said (Benjamin Franklin). God bless me and God bless Ghana. Amen
Poems and Reasoning
Poems written and compiled for public reference by Sefah, Ato-Welbeck.
Any part of these poems can be used with or without prior notification to the author. But to do humanity some good, I strongly recommend that these poems should not be published with the intention of making money. However, one is free to reprint without any citation or whatsoever as professional academics may require, of the work . After all all that we are what we are—all that we had know were all from history.
YAA ASANTEWAA, citations cum apostrophes
Kinki kinki tinko kinki tinko kinki tinko tinko kinki
Ghana Okukudam
Asanteman obaa barima
The true definition of bravery and heroism
The Palm-wine tapper’s aketekyewa
The mother of indiscipline against imperialism
Yaa Asantewaa,
Men had charms, amulets and talisman
But yours was a single barreled ate abrofr3
You cushioned our pillows with your reclination
Through your optimism and determination
When we as men hid under the comfort of our wives’ breast
And under our weak beds we cry our beloved lives
You sparked midnight blues for our dancing
O! Asafo gongo
You defied the rules of male chauvinism and lifted up the candle of do or die
Yaa Asantewaa
Asantewaa kwakyewaa
Kwakyewaa Bruwa
Mefre fre wo te se nea nyankonton re fre fre nsu
In the face of death you never stumbled
When it shown its stained yellowish teeth you even rushed forward
When sons of men could have burgeoned
They covered their faces behind your abosuo
Your death made pepper sweet and bitter our palm-wines
Asaase Yaa your grandmother broke into tears of mixed feeling
Yaa Asantewaa
Mbarima mba Ewura
Your remembrance would forever cause stir amongst our fathers
And upon the heads of our men a mighty squadron of shame
When they remember the day of your prowess
Yaa, yema wo mo opiafo
Yaa Ayekoo fontom
Yaa Ayekoo
KWEGYIR AGGREY
The priest of our ivory tower
Your wit like the garner of Akwasi Broni
The piper who gathered our monies away
Left behind a book the trap of our beginning
You alone saw the secret to our weaknesses
Papa Aggrey
You taught us the conducts of Pan-Africanism
Where our enlightenments were raised up above as high as an old swinging wall clock
But your contract with age and time came impeding your dockets
The big black eagle feeding amongst chickens is spiritual
A friend to the wind a Negro
He pecks with its mooring beak
Now a friend to the sand
Cos’ he is made to believe that he is a chicken
Dokita Aggrey
The half black moon turned white the minute you were born
And our scorching sun rained some cool memories of bonfire
It was the chaff of our minds’ scatter
It was the day’s hope that a man of the books was born
Our stories came changing
And our imaginations sharpened like raging
Our wives, concubines and our women were for the house
And our kitchens for our daughters
Like J in a manger your words ever in jotters
If you educate a man you educate one person but if you educate a girl you educate a nation
It was about your chalk which did teach gender equality and its balance
But today as men and women with our race
We’re still with begging bowls at the Whiteman’s doorstep
Waiting for same old pittances
O! Papa Aggrey, pray for our minds
Cos our minds are still black
KROBO EDUSEI
From the grasslands you become a friend to the bush
And in the forest where mountain Akropong meets you gather some herbs
His many encroachments on strange lands were all welcome
He who foresees evil before evil
The sense of Anokye, the Okomfo made him slippery
Krobo O! Krobo
The envy of the imperialists
The pretender of colonialism
The two sweet shadowy games of the West
Krobo!
You healed many across the tribes of medawase, akpe na me, naa goode, oyi wala don but few came back with appreciation
You favourite palm-wine in that old unpolished calabash
Krobo!
The supreme healer of our papa’s bones
Black name typical of a Blackman
You name is not white’s in your motherland
Krobo, O! Krobo, Krobo!! O!!!
I asked you to stay at home, and to mind only Africa
Cos’ your name alone casts spurs of restlessness on your adversaries
But your love for the world wouldn’t help you listen
Krobo! O! Edusei
The root from our heart, and king, Osei Tutu 1
For your strength your days hated you
And you generation trapped your footprints
Few say you died out of a disease
But I believe the many who said you were assassinated by your obsessed enemies, the West
They say you were a threat to their fame
Because you had the cure to our disease, HIV/AIDS
The flourished motive from the Americas
So they could forever paralyze me and my children
Krobo! O! Krobo!!
It’s me mother Africa calling
Krobo!!!
My heart renders some pitiable blots
And like yesterday
Wish you were here to heal my pain from your boiling pot.
JOMO KENYATTA
The battle fought between one and many, many and one but none was dear
The burning spear that creates morbid fear
Men felt like passing their bowels when they did not need to
By the power of the ancestors your enemies stumbled to
Where they had zero chances to helter-skelter
And with your empty stone bag embraced around your waist
You lit a laughing quibble.
And rant and chant the songs of Nairobi
Your face smeared with gun powder
The scarcity of your contenders
And with your leopard waist cloth you walked mightily like one
And Mao-Mao from the tiger’s belly we had our independence
Jomo, the happiest Sand-boy
Mother Kenya’s favourite, Papa’s fondest
Jomo, our savior and warrior
Your strength was our chaperon
And your shadow was our haven
Jomo, the torchbearer
The bitter pill of the Whiteman
The locust to his farmlands
The gains gained from our sweats
You gave no sleep to your tired sockets
Jomo, Papa Jomo
The sea tides that bid fishes swim well
And the wind waves that carry birds a flapping
Raise alarms for your presence
A man of the people
You together with Azikiwe, Selassie, Senghor, Mulele, Banda, Nyerere, Lumumba, Mandela, and Nkrumah helped quench the taste of Africa with the never ending water from the rift valley
Jomo, O! Jomo
You are always on our minds.
CRY MY BELOVED COUNTRY CRY
Cry my beloved country
More than worry encircles my belly
And they encroach on my bile
Cry my beloved country cry
To my heavy-laddered heart
I console everyday with some hard boiled bitter juice
The kindly breasts of our mothers quiver with fear
Cos’ the heads of men are not well
Darkness is our friend and we call wrong, right
The future you date is not bright
Cry my beloved country cry
Politics like whirlwind has taken over our four corners
And satire fills to brim our attitude
All I see is like politics in the bedroom
Today, he sees he as she
The lust, long left behind closed doors in S&G now in open doors
And women now pity no sense of guilt like their men
Cry my beloved country cry
The church, the state, walks apart
The few fools rule
And the wise for the ignorant many watch with awe
Today, chickens fly while eagles watch speechlessly
To them I say don’t say politics is not for you
Cry my beloved country cry
THE ANGELS TOO
The Angels too are fond of sharing jokes
A prototype of our daughters
They may sometimes play Ampe who knows
The Angels too play six me ludo, that game of four probable
Those old memories of our recent at3 b3ko awai
Tis, everyone is with a sense of childishness
Buy @ 20 a man; the Angels too have no time for alikoto
Every endeavor pays a price and like twenty two
The Angels too football soccer
The melody of our hearts
Where our pain gets therapy
The sing songs from the Angels too
The chanteuse ou la prima donna
And like mine the parts we play
Turner, Soprano, Auto and like men
The bass of their vocals causes stir
Heaven pours down rain
The Angels too pour down tears some cry when Jesus is angry at us
Dis they be not their but men’s
And like everything of ours
The Angels too have hours
SAVE WHILE YOU MAY
Save while you may
Who said it’s better to do nothing than to do just a little?
Who said little drops of water makes no mighty ocean?
Save while you may
He looked up into the dark skies and said to me
Save while you may
In those smiling days of mine
When I was a boy in my father’s house
Pamper, O Pamper! Was what matter?
I snapped my fingers and I saw assorted foods and drinks
Day by day I would wine and dine in the open
When I whistle I see merry making
And jewelries in treasury boxes be what?
At 23 a young man of many means
I caused wealth to rain wherever I went
Women and enjoyment were my confidants
I had my days as though I were a prince of Persia
I said work was only meant for fools and the lazy
Sons and daughters of men came begging at my door post so they could kill their hunger
But my severity held them by their necks
To them I said baloney
I was longed titled as the honourable prince of fame, superintendent money maker, our father of riches. Jesus on Earth
Signs of wisdom from above
Where the colour of our hairs process like choiresters
Grey hair and old age but a child
The seas that came calling that I may put up treasure for tomorrow
Today mocks at my disaster like glee
I am a dirty fluffy, flicky, flimsy, down-and-out oldie
Save while you may
My son, save while you may
For success is the complement of wisdom at young age
But wisdom is the complement of success at old age
As young my son you ought to be wise
Your big head as the ocean
Be always on the go to use it some tuning
Save while you may my son
The dead has no worry but the living
Change you character if yesterday you were rich but today poor
Hold you character if today rich yesterday poor
Save while you may my son
Save while you may
He said once more
Save while you may
For no morning sun lasts the whole day
Written by: Sefah, Ato-Welbeck
HARMATTAN
Some broken glasses disturb my sole
The spokes from the banku seller’s fire hold my jaw a break
Before the spittle from the shore
I saw a wandering spore
The corner borer that surrounds the many
It is not our main fever
But heavers our shins to dry a river
At tender age some Shea-butter
The tree which bears our shame
The disgrace away from a lady
And the joy of our marriage secret
The bale that breaks our skin some pale
Easy come easy go
Our eyes and noses
Feet and dresses
The gem of a long dusty drill
Today our main diva
Harmattan
Written by: Sefah, Ato-Welbeck
SING PRAISES
Like the birds that echo the morning dew
The soothing words our wandering Jew
O’er seas and valleys abound
The melodies fly like wings
The winter cold blew our laughter
The autuum fever brought today our fears
Cry now the mute
The white waving choral handkerchiefs
The perfumes from du papu
Amidst claps of the glad
The folding of the sad
Sing praises
Sing praises the farewell to ahupupuo and ahututuo
Today my joy tomorrow my doubts
The flying dreams of last week
Sing praises and sing
The day we taught a baby smile
My friend and, my friends
In all things
Sing praises
Written by: Sefah, Ato-Welbeck
O! ANANSEWAA
You who pat my chest with morning fresh palm-wine
You who knead your bread beside my hunger
Where I eat to a belly full
You bore the breast for Ntikuma
And with your warm nipples when covered put Naakowia to weep
As always when we need to sleep
On our old wretched bamboo bed you sigh me some panting dew
And as graceful as a gazelle you settle my sharp eye balls to rolling
And the smell of your skin envelopes me through the forest
In my largest funeral cloth the traces of your yoomo
O! Anansewaa
Your gun rests in my room
And without your consent I can only throw stones at birds
Gathering Bansri, Koosri, juju water, and drinking water
Are my house chores when you sleep for a long waiting
At home a fool--no man knows
Come quick and let us smoke some pipes like bronya
O! Anansewaa
My waist reminds me of you
And the tattered cotton mat which you left behind questions me about your whereabouts
The stones that said throw me roofing
Today leave me a rest
O! Anansewaa the belly of my babies never leave me alone.
FAR TOO LONG
Sometimes the black hold the skies from the blue skies
And when I am without you I keep sinking
One of these days I shall find you a warm caring
No place like home, our mornings’ sharing
Where your beats like mine
We will dance and dine
The last day of my life
To the tunes of a wife
O! Our mother and our source
When I am back far too long from trek like Papa
I shall tell my stories about my getaways
And hallelujah! Now free I will sing you some happy ways
Written by: Sefah, Ato-Welbeck
I HAVE A STORY
He closed his eyes and nodded his head and said
Son, I have a story
I have a story
One day I’ll tell my story
And who cares to hear my story
When I am able to make it in life
When I have crossed all my rivers, vales, hurdles and have overcome my barriers and fears
There I shall sit on radio
Not that of today’s but that of discerning groupe de reflexion
And on T.V to tell my story
Someone somewhere who knows nothing but a few
Will quickly gather some two and write about me as if they knew me
There, someone will care
There, people will have the wherewithal from my stories
And their families will go to bed hungry no more
I will tell about a rogue and vagabond turned a disciplined and principled young man
All because of one thing
The fear of the Lord which in and about me
I shall tell about the kinds of friends I made
And about how I got the Old Italian adage, show me your friend and I will tell you your character, defied
I have a story and someday people will care about it if I make it
Like the court of law it has no time for no case
The society too has no time for no story
Like our father Bob Marley, they gave me a star treatment simply because I was making a lot of money but I was just as good when I was poor.
I shall tell the story the way it is
And if you don’t like my story write your story
Like Martin Luther’s, mine is not a dream
I have a story and mine is just a one day story
Written by: Sefah, Ato-Welbeck
OUR GIRL
Don’t say my girl when at 9:00 p.m.
She says am at home when she’s in town
When her manes causes her not to return your missed calls
If she says I am Angela when she is Grace
Don’t say my girl when young and not married to her
When she smells perfumes and sparkles shinning
She says uuhm uuhm a friend bought it for me
There do not ask if the friend be s (he)
Don’t say my girl
She is only yours when in your closet
In your room at day night or in the dark having four legs
But no more yours when outside in the dark counting dresses
Don’t say my girl
But say our girl
I SHALL TELL MY MOTHER, an Ode
I was small today big
But I still need a consoler
Cos’ everyone needs a comforter
I shall tell my mother
About the struggles I have been through
About the dooms of my yesterdays
When she was away
And when I had gone into the woods
I shall tell her about my heart beats
I shall tell my mother about my broken heart
The pain I have had to endure the moment my women left me a goodbye
How a man became a woman down on his knees crying to a woman
The long for nothing humble kotows before heartless
I shall ask her to tell me more about women
Cos I have forgotten the advices she sung to me
I shall ask her to tell me much about myself
She knows best the hunger of my belly
I shall tell my mother all the times she was with me building a hood
But one thing she forgot about a mood
Hope she re-writes me some stories for my boring moorings
When she is here with me having taken a sigh of at home
I shall tell my mother
POETRY, LINEAGE DISCRIPTION
Soledad
OUR HUSBAND’S HUSBAND, A poem condemning same-sex marriage
Have we lost the pride of womanhood or have we parted traditions with men? Or have men now found a square hole for round pegs?
The society we made, now makes us and the toils of our bare-foot and of our krachi-powers now have brains that fly
Cry my beloved country cry cos’ since when did the source of the spring become the man
Like a stunned eagle watches the tortoise fly
Men now bear seeds while women bear words
Our husband’s husband
The man who lies down in dippers
In wait for a man like a woman
This is a world of satire
A world where foolishness yesterday today dead
We cry some pleas for mercy
That sons and daughter of our time learn from their follies
Our husband’s husband
The unpolished dirty yellowish fluffy broken calabash of recent memory and misery
Like our husband and our wife
He whistles some calling tunes to air
And shame has located its thistles unto our doorway
Oh what a pity brought upon by our husband’s husband
The unspeakable thoughts of our dailies
The imaginable lobbies of our silent politicians
Follies mere follies rest asunder under our trees
For peace and disdain now couples
All in the shameful sockets of our husband’s husband.
IN A WOMAN’S CHEST
From the tempest flows
Onwards the fears of our blows
The cries of our fresh woes
Nearer the surroundings of our foes
The thunder strike from the momentum scores
The pity of our wounds
Now and then the worries of our bounds
In their cloth and in their abosuo
In a woman’s chest
Heavy, heavy is the laden heart
The concerns and the regards for the nation
Our homes and our houses
The silent prayer of vulnerable
Our women and our children
A sober mind minding no business of one
But two and many
One unseeing concern always quick to be told
All the silence to bear
In a woman’s chest the unknown tears
POLITICS IN THE BEDROOM
The lone voice in the dessert cries out aloud
It is the voice of a baby
It is the voice of a woman
It is the voice of an orphan girl
It is the voice of a woman in labour
It is the voice of persons with disabilities from the other side of the wall
The first cries, I wish I was not born cos I didn’t come well
The second cries, I wish I cud fly away to a place of few talks but many actions
The third cries, till when will men continue to make mistakes, till when will men continue to dorminate the world
The fourth cries, I wish I was created normal, I wish I could also be treated the same way as normal persons are treated
And I wish God would listen to me when I pray for my country cos a nation which does not take care of its disableds hardly prospers
All together they wander and search for their livings souls a rest
Where darkness meets sunlight
The source of the spring, the woman
But the sorrow in a woman’s chest the curses unto the nation
Everything is shrouded in secrecy
And all things are done under the pillows of corruption and bribery
For all I see is politics in the bedroom
THE FEW (POLITICIANS) ARE KILLING THE MANY
Ghana is sick
O! The dawn of my tempest soul
Here I come with words of explanation from a fallen dome
Console me not until the sun sighs me some peace of mind
Cos the nation is not well
Ghana is not crazy
But one thing has made her seem so
The nkwasiasems that erupts to shower
The nyansasems that kotow to power
And the overlord of honourable A.A
Yesterday’s common kwesi Adu Appiah
They act satire- they talk satire and they eat satire
They talk of its death
And they portray as the supremo de supremo
All in the name of political power
But they are the least workers in the society
Ghana is no crazy
My tempest failing memory
If I recall gone are the days when we had men and women of visions
Thinkers of great thoughts and born leaders of men
With tears of real dedication
Patriotism today I see is dead
And a heavy mistaken heart I cry today
For Christians have failed to be seen in my political spectrum
And all I see is politics in the bedroom
It stands at the high street of Accra and says: complacency, indiscipline, cowardice, corruption, lackadaisical, injustice and what have you are all in my right hand
Tomorrow comes I increase its strength with my right hand and cast them the more on your institutions
Ghana is not crazy
O! my white friend
Forgive me for my old prejudiced memory
I thought you demon
I though you mammon
I thought you said the hippopotamus was not an ugly animal
Now I know that the black man is not well prepared to govern
Cos nearly all men can stand adversity but if you want to test the character of a man give him power my Lincoln my said
Ghana is not crazy
O! My black neighbour
The brain of my brain
The heart of my heart
And the soul of my tempest morning breathe
Wouldn’t you help me wield ourselves with armour?
Wouldn’t you help me sound the drums of aph3yie?
Before darkness comes?
O! Mother
I thought you stupid
I though the land you left behind was red
Forget the pain of the Whiteman
And consider the piercings of the Blackman
Today on your own soil where we lay our sweat and toils
Crocodiles eat their own eggs
The few are killing the many
Here on the land which you bore
Politics is war
And war is politics
Cos power create my thinkings some sore
All because the few are killing the many
THE CPP
Your party, my party, our party
The early days of our political scuffle
Where we cry our beloved country and make erections our solemn grounds.
Where we had our toils like that of Cain and our empty sojourning like Abel’s.
Mothers and babies, men and children each with their belly pain a painful discus
Carrying on their heads buckets of tribulations the places where we had many scores
Our memories today are far left beside the shore and our tears now belittle our sweats
The down pour cast of lovely moments.
With songs and with claps as though we were going places we set foot on a high journey where we know not our coming pain.
We play our lovely gongor with sticks and with mallets.
With anything that says play me a tune.
On the dancing floor we display our dancing moves the old going folks of our time.
Today refined the sweet panting flexing muscles of Azonto.
Our written celebrations are washed away
And our tears today rekindle like morning
As teetering as a pin ball.
A giant proper is fallen.
The glasses that bore semi-witnesses to our story are swept into the wind
It is the Convention people’s party.
It is yesterday’s Convention Youth Organisation
Now shatter and drill deep
Pinching our hearts of old day patriotism
Woe betides men and women of age
The crushers and the thrashers
When our hook gets loose
And breaks the goring a come back
We say no to forgiveness
Cos’ their foments today be-cry our commitment
And torments our virulence
Dedicated to: All women Nkrumahists.
SOLEDAD (Apostrophe)
Soledad, my breath, my belly
Music to my ears
My wrong, my right
The gypsy of caravans
Travelling 35 miles a Cairo journey
Soledad
Grinding the cuddle
And taking back to tongue
She was sole on cold
Warm sole in silvery slipper-on
How different was she?
So different
She was a daddy to mum
At church wearing a holey pair of jeans
In robe she led
But in the evenings
Always beside me in bed
She was Soledad
My chest, my skin
The deep cut inhaler
My strength, my hope
She was always Soledad
Does she intrigue?
Oh! Yes she does
Indeed that she does
Her nipples, her warm embracing smiles
Her bright morning glittering eyes
Open two, a hollow stir
Amongst men and preacher-men
With guns and roses
Tapes and scissors
But to me she was always my Soledad
Dedicated to: All the young women in the church
AMANDA (Apostrophe)
My sage, my rage
Covering the face a veil
Her picture to seal
A Christian and a Mary
Amanda
My pride, my stride
Foolishness and goodness
My naughty loyal madness
Amanda
My prayer, my hope
On Fridays, a woman Sufist
Almanac standing 4 feet 3 inches bowing 3 inches on flat
Amanda
Many women amaze
But you surpass them all
Cos’ like a goddess
You dazzle sorcerers
Amanda
Dedicated to:
A THIEF AMONGST US, A Poem Condemning Neo-Imperialism and Neo-Colonialism
Fellow Africans, Abu and Khan
Mamaa, Papaa
There is a thief amongst us
He who lies in wait for our substance
Gathers our field better from its green
To low the level it started from
And tells us the hippopotamus isn’t an ugly animal
There is a thief amongst us
Not one of us but now more than one of us
Today dictates to us like Baaba
To both the young and the old
My friend and my good brother
Here on our own land
Where we toil and wipe our sweat
Where we say goodbye to the evening
And bow our heads to sleep waiting for morrow
Praying God to pour down the rain
To increase our barns and yarns
You can only imagine a fantasy
Because here on our land where we pant for the sun
There is a thief amongst us.
THE LAY SNAKE OF CHIPOROPORO
Long live the country of my country
The land where we had our fatty
And the struggles of dirty
Gone yesterday the days of our cries
On the far left side of our chaos
Where we dry some merry go making
Lord of Heavens and Earth
Our struggle now shoulder
And our skepticism on our own land default our memories
The remembrance from yesterday
When we were we not
But today the fighting have made us we
The lay snake of Chiporoporo
The is a snake among us
It stretches forth its head long
In the midst of our affairs
To interfere and to confess
But not the truth told by our ancestors
It is White and black
The doubts of our tomorrow
The lay snake
They call him Guy Scott
But the land calls him the loving Satan
Let our mistakes not over shadow our minds
For the days of imperialism and colonialism
Over and over says the mighty ocean of Chiporoporo
Beware the people of Zambia
There is a lay snake at our doorpost
It is white but black to it professes
The domicile of Michael Sata
The domicile to be of our tomorrow
Beware the people of Zambia
For there is a lay snake that says
Take me away to your chambers
And befriend me against the West
One day we all be questioned by our follies
And have our ways like that of our beloved motherland
When it had many a struggle
And little the milk She had bore herself
There is a lay snake we all talk not about
It is man in demon clothing
He is Guy Scott in the middle of our affairs
The snake Vice-President of our Land
Beware the people of Zambia
For there is lay snake at our corner stone.
Any part of these poems can be used with or without prior notification to the author. But to do humanity some good, I strongly recommend that these poems should not be published with the intention of making money. However, one is free to reprint without any citation or whatsoever as professional academics may require, of the work . After all all that we are what we are—all that we had know were all from history.
YAA ASANTEWAA, citations cum apostrophes
Kinki kinki tinko kinki tinko kinki tinko tinko kinki
Ghana Okukudam
Asanteman obaa barima
The true definition of bravery and heroism
The Palm-wine tapper’s aketekyewa
The mother of indiscipline against imperialism
Yaa Asantewaa,
Men had charms, amulets and talisman
But yours was a single barreled ate abrofr3
You cushioned our pillows with your reclination
Through your optimism and determination
When we as men hid under the comfort of our wives’ breast
And under our weak beds we cry our beloved lives
You sparked midnight blues for our dancing
O! Asafo gongo
You defied the rules of male chauvinism and lifted up the candle of do or die
Yaa Asantewaa
Asantewaa kwakyewaa
Kwakyewaa Bruwa
Mefre fre wo te se nea nyankonton re fre fre nsu
In the face of death you never stumbled
When it shown its stained yellowish teeth you even rushed forward
When sons of men could have burgeoned
They covered their faces behind your abosuo
Your death made pepper sweet and bitter our palm-wines
Asaase Yaa your grandmother broke into tears of mixed feeling
Yaa Asantewaa
Mbarima mba Ewura
Your remembrance would forever cause stir amongst our fathers
And upon the heads of our men a mighty squadron of shame
When they remember the day of your prowess
Yaa, yema wo mo opiafo
Yaa Ayekoo fontom
Yaa Ayekoo
KWEGYIR AGGREY
The priest of our ivory tower
Your wit like the garner of Akwasi Broni
The piper who gathered our monies away
Left behind a book the trap of our beginning
You alone saw the secret to our weaknesses
Papa Aggrey
You taught us the conducts of Pan-Africanism
Where our enlightenments were raised up above as high as an old swinging wall clock
But your contract with age and time came impeding your dockets
The big black eagle feeding amongst chickens is spiritual
A friend to the wind a Negro
He pecks with its mooring beak
Now a friend to the sand
Cos’ he is made to believe that he is a chicken
Dokita Aggrey
The half black moon turned white the minute you were born
And our scorching sun rained some cool memories of bonfire
It was the chaff of our minds’ scatter
It was the day’s hope that a man of the books was born
Our stories came changing
And our imaginations sharpened like raging
Our wives, concubines and our women were for the house
And our kitchens for our daughters
Like J in a manger your words ever in jotters
If you educate a man you educate one person but if you educate a girl you educate a nation
It was about your chalk which did teach gender equality and its balance
But today as men and women with our race
We’re still with begging bowls at the Whiteman’s doorstep
Waiting for same old pittances
O! Papa Aggrey, pray for our minds
Cos our minds are still black
KROBO EDUSEI
From the grasslands you become a friend to the bush
And in the forest where mountain Akropong meets you gather some herbs
His many encroachments on strange lands were all welcome
He who foresees evil before evil
The sense of Anokye, the Okomfo made him slippery
Krobo O! Krobo
The envy of the imperialists
The pretender of colonialism
The two sweet shadowy games of the West
Krobo!
You healed many across the tribes of medawase, akpe na me, naa goode, oyi wala don but few came back with appreciation
You favourite palm-wine in that old unpolished calabash
Krobo!
The supreme healer of our papa’s bones
Black name typical of a Blackman
You name is not white’s in your motherland
Krobo, O! Krobo, Krobo!! O!!!
I asked you to stay at home, and to mind only Africa
Cos’ your name alone casts spurs of restlessness on your adversaries
But your love for the world wouldn’t help you listen
Krobo! O! Edusei
The root from our heart, and king, Osei Tutu 1
For your strength your days hated you
And you generation trapped your footprints
Few say you died out of a disease
But I believe the many who said you were assassinated by your obsessed enemies, the West
They say you were a threat to their fame
Because you had the cure to our disease, HIV/AIDS
The flourished motive from the Americas
So they could forever paralyze me and my children
Krobo! O! Krobo!!
It’s me mother Africa calling
Krobo!!!
My heart renders some pitiable blots
And like yesterday
Wish you were here to heal my pain from your boiling pot.
JOMO KENYATTA
The battle fought between one and many, many and one but none was dear
The burning spear that creates morbid fear
Men felt like passing their bowels when they did not need to
By the power of the ancestors your enemies stumbled to
Where they had zero chances to helter-skelter
And with your empty stone bag embraced around your waist
You lit a laughing quibble.
And rant and chant the songs of Nairobi
Your face smeared with gun powder
The scarcity of your contenders
And with your leopard waist cloth you walked mightily like one
And Mao-Mao from the tiger’s belly we had our independence
Jomo, the happiest Sand-boy
Mother Kenya’s favourite, Papa’s fondest
Jomo, our savior and warrior
Your strength was our chaperon
And your shadow was our haven
Jomo, the torchbearer
The bitter pill of the Whiteman
The locust to his farmlands
The gains gained from our sweats
You gave no sleep to your tired sockets
Jomo, Papa Jomo
The sea tides that bid fishes swim well
And the wind waves that carry birds a flapping
Raise alarms for your presence
A man of the people
You together with Azikiwe, Selassie, Senghor, Mulele, Banda, Nyerere, Lumumba, Mandela, and Nkrumah helped quench the taste of Africa with the never ending water from the rift valley
Jomo, O! Jomo
You are always on our minds.
CRY MY BELOVED COUNTRY CRY
Cry my beloved country
More than worry encircles my belly
And they encroach on my bile
Cry my beloved country cry
To my heavy-laddered heart
I console everyday with some hard boiled bitter juice
The kindly breasts of our mothers quiver with fear
Cos’ the heads of men are not well
Darkness is our friend and we call wrong, right
The future you date is not bright
Cry my beloved country cry
Politics like whirlwind has taken over our four corners
And satire fills to brim our attitude
All I see is like politics in the bedroom
Today, he sees he as she
The lust, long left behind closed doors in S&G now in open doors
And women now pity no sense of guilt like their men
Cry my beloved country cry
The church, the state, walks apart
The few fools rule
And the wise for the ignorant many watch with awe
Today, chickens fly while eagles watch speechlessly
To them I say don’t say politics is not for you
Cry my beloved country cry
THE ANGELS TOO
The Angels too are fond of sharing jokes
A prototype of our daughters
They may sometimes play Ampe who knows
The Angels too play six me ludo, that game of four probable
Those old memories of our recent at3 b3ko awai
Tis, everyone is with a sense of childishness
Buy @ 20 a man; the Angels too have no time for alikoto
Every endeavor pays a price and like twenty two
The Angels too football soccer
The melody of our hearts
Where our pain gets therapy
The sing songs from the Angels too
The chanteuse ou la prima donna
And like mine the parts we play
Turner, Soprano, Auto and like men
The bass of their vocals causes stir
Heaven pours down rain
The Angels too pour down tears some cry when Jesus is angry at us
Dis they be not their but men’s
And like everything of ours
The Angels too have hours
SAVE WHILE YOU MAY
Save while you may
Who said it’s better to do nothing than to do just a little?
Who said little drops of water makes no mighty ocean?
Save while you may
He looked up into the dark skies and said to me
Save while you may
In those smiling days of mine
When I was a boy in my father’s house
Pamper, O Pamper! Was what matter?
I snapped my fingers and I saw assorted foods and drinks
Day by day I would wine and dine in the open
When I whistle I see merry making
And jewelries in treasury boxes be what?
At 23 a young man of many means
I caused wealth to rain wherever I went
Women and enjoyment were my confidants
I had my days as though I were a prince of Persia
I said work was only meant for fools and the lazy
Sons and daughters of men came begging at my door post so they could kill their hunger
But my severity held them by their necks
To them I said baloney
I was longed titled as the honourable prince of fame, superintendent money maker, our father of riches. Jesus on Earth
Signs of wisdom from above
Where the colour of our hairs process like choiresters
Grey hair and old age but a child
The seas that came calling that I may put up treasure for tomorrow
Today mocks at my disaster like glee
I am a dirty fluffy, flicky, flimsy, down-and-out oldie
Save while you may
My son, save while you may
For success is the complement of wisdom at young age
But wisdom is the complement of success at old age
As young my son you ought to be wise
Your big head as the ocean
Be always on the go to use it some tuning
Save while you may my son
The dead has no worry but the living
Change you character if yesterday you were rich but today poor
Hold you character if today rich yesterday poor
Save while you may my son
Save while you may
He said once more
Save while you may
For no morning sun lasts the whole day
Written by: Sefah, Ato-Welbeck
HARMATTAN
Some broken glasses disturb my sole
The spokes from the banku seller’s fire hold my jaw a break
Before the spittle from the shore
I saw a wandering spore
The corner borer that surrounds the many
It is not our main fever
But heavers our shins to dry a river
At tender age some Shea-butter
The tree which bears our shame
The disgrace away from a lady
And the joy of our marriage secret
The bale that breaks our skin some pale
Easy come easy go
Our eyes and noses
Feet and dresses
The gem of a long dusty drill
Today our main diva
Harmattan
Written by: Sefah, Ato-Welbeck
SING PRAISES
Like the birds that echo the morning dew
The soothing words our wandering Jew
O’er seas and valleys abound
The melodies fly like wings
The winter cold blew our laughter
The autuum fever brought today our fears
Cry now the mute
The white waving choral handkerchiefs
The perfumes from du papu
Amidst claps of the glad
The folding of the sad
Sing praises
Sing praises the farewell to ahupupuo and ahututuo
Today my joy tomorrow my doubts
The flying dreams of last week
Sing praises and sing
The day we taught a baby smile
My friend and, my friends
In all things
Sing praises
Written by: Sefah, Ato-Welbeck
O! ANANSEWAA
You who pat my chest with morning fresh palm-wine
You who knead your bread beside my hunger
Where I eat to a belly full
You bore the breast for Ntikuma
And with your warm nipples when covered put Naakowia to weep
As always when we need to sleep
On our old wretched bamboo bed you sigh me some panting dew
And as graceful as a gazelle you settle my sharp eye balls to rolling
And the smell of your skin envelopes me through the forest
In my largest funeral cloth the traces of your yoomo
O! Anansewaa
Your gun rests in my room
And without your consent I can only throw stones at birds
Gathering Bansri, Koosri, juju water, and drinking water
Are my house chores when you sleep for a long waiting
At home a fool--no man knows
Come quick and let us smoke some pipes like bronya
O! Anansewaa
My waist reminds me of you
And the tattered cotton mat which you left behind questions me about your whereabouts
The stones that said throw me roofing
Today leave me a rest
O! Anansewaa the belly of my babies never leave me alone.
FAR TOO LONG
Sometimes the black hold the skies from the blue skies
And when I am without you I keep sinking
One of these days I shall find you a warm caring
No place like home, our mornings’ sharing
Where your beats like mine
We will dance and dine
The last day of my life
To the tunes of a wife
O! Our mother and our source
When I am back far too long from trek like Papa
I shall tell my stories about my getaways
And hallelujah! Now free I will sing you some happy ways
Written by: Sefah, Ato-Welbeck
I HAVE A STORY
He closed his eyes and nodded his head and said
Son, I have a story
I have a story
One day I’ll tell my story
And who cares to hear my story
When I am able to make it in life
When I have crossed all my rivers, vales, hurdles and have overcome my barriers and fears
There I shall sit on radio
Not that of today’s but that of discerning groupe de reflexion
And on T.V to tell my story
Someone somewhere who knows nothing but a few
Will quickly gather some two and write about me as if they knew me
There, someone will care
There, people will have the wherewithal from my stories
And their families will go to bed hungry no more
I will tell about a rogue and vagabond turned a disciplined and principled young man
All because of one thing
The fear of the Lord which in and about me
I shall tell about the kinds of friends I made
And about how I got the Old Italian adage, show me your friend and I will tell you your character, defied
I have a story and someday people will care about it if I make it
Like the court of law it has no time for no case
The society too has no time for no story
Like our father Bob Marley, they gave me a star treatment simply because I was making a lot of money but I was just as good when I was poor.
I shall tell the story the way it is
And if you don’t like my story write your story
Like Martin Luther’s, mine is not a dream
I have a story and mine is just a one day story
Written by: Sefah, Ato-Welbeck
OUR GIRL
Don’t say my girl when at 9:00 p.m.
She says am at home when she’s in town
When her manes causes her not to return your missed calls
If she says I am Angela when she is Grace
Don’t say my girl when young and not married to her
When she smells perfumes and sparkles shinning
She says uuhm uuhm a friend bought it for me
There do not ask if the friend be s (he)
Don’t say my girl
She is only yours when in your closet
In your room at day night or in the dark having four legs
But no more yours when outside in the dark counting dresses
Don’t say my girl
But say our girl
I SHALL TELL MY MOTHER, an Ode
I was small today big
But I still need a consoler
Cos’ everyone needs a comforter
I shall tell my mother
About the struggles I have been through
About the dooms of my yesterdays
When she was away
And when I had gone into the woods
I shall tell her about my heart beats
I shall tell my mother about my broken heart
The pain I have had to endure the moment my women left me a goodbye
How a man became a woman down on his knees crying to a woman
The long for nothing humble kotows before heartless
I shall ask her to tell me more about women
Cos I have forgotten the advices she sung to me
I shall ask her to tell me much about myself
She knows best the hunger of my belly
I shall tell my mother all the times she was with me building a hood
But one thing she forgot about a mood
Hope she re-writes me some stories for my boring moorings
When she is here with me having taken a sigh of at home
I shall tell my mother
POETRY, LINEAGE DISCRIPTION
Soledad
OUR HUSBAND’S HUSBAND, A poem condemning same-sex marriage
Have we lost the pride of womanhood or have we parted traditions with men? Or have men now found a square hole for round pegs?
The society we made, now makes us and the toils of our bare-foot and of our krachi-powers now have brains that fly
Cry my beloved country cry cos’ since when did the source of the spring become the man
Like a stunned eagle watches the tortoise fly
Men now bear seeds while women bear words
Our husband’s husband
The man who lies down in dippers
In wait for a man like a woman
This is a world of satire
A world where foolishness yesterday today dead
We cry some pleas for mercy
That sons and daughter of our time learn from their follies
Our husband’s husband
The unpolished dirty yellowish fluffy broken calabash of recent memory and misery
Like our husband and our wife
He whistles some calling tunes to air
And shame has located its thistles unto our doorway
Oh what a pity brought upon by our husband’s husband
The unspeakable thoughts of our dailies
The imaginable lobbies of our silent politicians
Follies mere follies rest asunder under our trees
For peace and disdain now couples
All in the shameful sockets of our husband’s husband.
IN A WOMAN’S CHEST
From the tempest flows
Onwards the fears of our blows
The cries of our fresh woes
Nearer the surroundings of our foes
The thunder strike from the momentum scores
The pity of our wounds
Now and then the worries of our bounds
In their cloth and in their abosuo
In a woman’s chest
Heavy, heavy is the laden heart
The concerns and the regards for the nation
Our homes and our houses
The silent prayer of vulnerable
Our women and our children
A sober mind minding no business of one
But two and many
One unseeing concern always quick to be told
All the silence to bear
In a woman’s chest the unknown tears
POLITICS IN THE BEDROOM
The lone voice in the dessert cries out aloud
It is the voice of a baby
It is the voice of a woman
It is the voice of an orphan girl
It is the voice of a woman in labour
It is the voice of persons with disabilities from the other side of the wall
The first cries, I wish I was not born cos I didn’t come well
The second cries, I wish I cud fly away to a place of few talks but many actions
The third cries, till when will men continue to make mistakes, till when will men continue to dorminate the world
The fourth cries, I wish I was created normal, I wish I could also be treated the same way as normal persons are treated
And I wish God would listen to me when I pray for my country cos a nation which does not take care of its disableds hardly prospers
All together they wander and search for their livings souls a rest
Where darkness meets sunlight
The source of the spring, the woman
But the sorrow in a woman’s chest the curses unto the nation
Everything is shrouded in secrecy
And all things are done under the pillows of corruption and bribery
For all I see is politics in the bedroom
THE FEW (POLITICIANS) ARE KILLING THE MANY
Ghana is sick
O! The dawn of my tempest soul
Here I come with words of explanation from a fallen dome
Console me not until the sun sighs me some peace of mind
Cos the nation is not well
Ghana is not crazy
But one thing has made her seem so
The nkwasiasems that erupts to shower
The nyansasems that kotow to power
And the overlord of honourable A.A
Yesterday’s common kwesi Adu Appiah
They act satire- they talk satire and they eat satire
They talk of its death
And they portray as the supremo de supremo
All in the name of political power
But they are the least workers in the society
Ghana is no crazy
My tempest failing memory
If I recall gone are the days when we had men and women of visions
Thinkers of great thoughts and born leaders of men
With tears of real dedication
Patriotism today I see is dead
And a heavy mistaken heart I cry today
For Christians have failed to be seen in my political spectrum
And all I see is politics in the bedroom
It stands at the high street of Accra and says: complacency, indiscipline, cowardice, corruption, lackadaisical, injustice and what have you are all in my right hand
Tomorrow comes I increase its strength with my right hand and cast them the more on your institutions
Ghana is not crazy
O! my white friend
Forgive me for my old prejudiced memory
I thought you demon
I though you mammon
I thought you said the hippopotamus was not an ugly animal
Now I know that the black man is not well prepared to govern
Cos nearly all men can stand adversity but if you want to test the character of a man give him power my Lincoln my said
Ghana is not crazy
O! My black neighbour
The brain of my brain
The heart of my heart
And the soul of my tempest morning breathe
Wouldn’t you help me wield ourselves with armour?
Wouldn’t you help me sound the drums of aph3yie?
Before darkness comes?
O! Mother
I thought you stupid
I though the land you left behind was red
Forget the pain of the Whiteman
And consider the piercings of the Blackman
Today on your own soil where we lay our sweat and toils
Crocodiles eat their own eggs
The few are killing the many
Here on the land which you bore
Politics is war
And war is politics
Cos power create my thinkings some sore
All because the few are killing the many
THE CPP
Your party, my party, our party
The early days of our political scuffle
Where we cry our beloved country and make erections our solemn grounds.
Where we had our toils like that of Cain and our empty sojourning like Abel’s.
Mothers and babies, men and children each with their belly pain a painful discus
Carrying on their heads buckets of tribulations the places where we had many scores
Our memories today are far left beside the shore and our tears now belittle our sweats
The down pour cast of lovely moments.
With songs and with claps as though we were going places we set foot on a high journey where we know not our coming pain.
We play our lovely gongor with sticks and with mallets.
With anything that says play me a tune.
On the dancing floor we display our dancing moves the old going folks of our time.
Today refined the sweet panting flexing muscles of Azonto.
Our written celebrations are washed away
And our tears today rekindle like morning
As teetering as a pin ball.
A giant proper is fallen.
The glasses that bore semi-witnesses to our story are swept into the wind
It is the Convention people’s party.
It is yesterday’s Convention Youth Organisation
Now shatter and drill deep
Pinching our hearts of old day patriotism
Woe betides men and women of age
The crushers and the thrashers
When our hook gets loose
And breaks the goring a come back
We say no to forgiveness
Cos’ their foments today be-cry our commitment
And torments our virulence
Dedicated to: All women Nkrumahists.
SOLEDAD (Apostrophe)
Soledad, my breath, my belly
Music to my ears
My wrong, my right
The gypsy of caravans
Travelling 35 miles a Cairo journey
Soledad
Grinding the cuddle
And taking back to tongue
She was sole on cold
Warm sole in silvery slipper-on
How different was she?
So different
She was a daddy to mum
At church wearing a holey pair of jeans
In robe she led
But in the evenings
Always beside me in bed
She was Soledad
My chest, my skin
The deep cut inhaler
My strength, my hope
She was always Soledad
Does she intrigue?
Oh! Yes she does
Indeed that she does
Her nipples, her warm embracing smiles
Her bright morning glittering eyes
Open two, a hollow stir
Amongst men and preacher-men
With guns and roses
Tapes and scissors
But to me she was always my Soledad
Dedicated to: All the young women in the church
AMANDA (Apostrophe)
My sage, my rage
Covering the face a veil
Her picture to seal
A Christian and a Mary
Amanda
My pride, my stride
Foolishness and goodness
My naughty loyal madness
Amanda
My prayer, my hope
On Fridays, a woman Sufist
Almanac standing 4 feet 3 inches bowing 3 inches on flat
Amanda
Many women amaze
But you surpass them all
Cos’ like a goddess
You dazzle sorcerers
Amanda
Dedicated to:
A THIEF AMONGST US, A Poem Condemning Neo-Imperialism and Neo-Colonialism
Fellow Africans, Abu and Khan
Mamaa, Papaa
There is a thief amongst us
He who lies in wait for our substance
Gathers our field better from its green
To low the level it started from
And tells us the hippopotamus isn’t an ugly animal
There is a thief amongst us
Not one of us but now more than one of us
Today dictates to us like Baaba
To both the young and the old
My friend and my good brother
Here on our own land
Where we toil and wipe our sweat
Where we say goodbye to the evening
And bow our heads to sleep waiting for morrow
Praying God to pour down the rain
To increase our barns and yarns
You can only imagine a fantasy
Because here on our land where we pant for the sun
There is a thief amongst us.
THE LAY SNAKE OF CHIPOROPORO
Long live the country of my country
The land where we had our fatty
And the struggles of dirty
Gone yesterday the days of our cries
On the far left side of our chaos
Where we dry some merry go making
Lord of Heavens and Earth
Our struggle now shoulder
And our skepticism on our own land default our memories
The remembrance from yesterday
When we were we not
But today the fighting have made us we
The lay snake of Chiporoporo
The is a snake among us
It stretches forth its head long
In the midst of our affairs
To interfere and to confess
But not the truth told by our ancestors
It is White and black
The doubts of our tomorrow
The lay snake
They call him Guy Scott
But the land calls him the loving Satan
Let our mistakes not over shadow our minds
For the days of imperialism and colonialism
Over and over says the mighty ocean of Chiporoporo
Beware the people of Zambia
There is a lay snake at our doorpost
It is white but black to it professes
The domicile of Michael Sata
The domicile to be of our tomorrow
Beware the people of Zambia
For there is a lay snake that says
Take me away to your chambers
And befriend me against the West
One day we all be questioned by our follies
And have our ways like that of our beloved motherland
When it had many a struggle
And little the milk She had bore herself
There is a lay snake we all talk not about
It is man in demon clothing
He is Guy Scott in the middle of our affairs
The snake Vice-President of our Land
Beware the people of Zambia
For there is lay snake at our corner stone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
