‘W)nsom w)nsom’— Collective Efforts


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W)nsom, w)nsom
For it is collectiveness that we stand
The day has already ridden to far land
Mpaninfo) se, “s3 anomaa any3 ne buo a, ebu tra nek)n”
As I lick my little burden off
The pride of our culture laid to rust 
Nothing beautiful seen among our pride
All written in lines of lies beyond means
“s3 y3reyi apay3 a, na 3no nkyer3s3 takyer3ma nante asaase aniwa mu”
The law was created, —likewise men manifested.

All we do in our prime is walk unconcerned
Whilst our last days look blur upon the waters
A clean pair of hands far fetched
The destiny of our people neglected
Along the shores of wishing to be soaked
Tears welling up in the eyes of our people
Hunger tearing up their bellies at night
“Y3ts s3 3k)m de y3n nanso wo ne whan nK)ka s3 patio ani y3 ap)twe ap)twee”
This beautiful nation is ours
She is fast greying beyond boundaries 
And all our leaders keep doing is nothing
Which they call something
and O’ all is but mediocrity
“Ampa s3 k)k)sakyi di ap)nkyer3ni ani a, nano na 3soro”
Thousand minutes of traversing this journey not maximized
The castles hanging up in us not whistled
This still grey of us is too early.

W)nsom, w)nsom
the land is bare
The people are still lying dormant
Hoping that the top layer would be peeled
And you hide in your chamber
Calling on the clouds to pour on you luxuries
The stench of the open is swallowing our noses
Mosquito bites ripping our hearts apart
O’ such a shame, such a fate
So adamantly ignored for that someone expected
We wallow, and roll all over in bed
“Nanso kuntu w) h) yi, d3nky3mbo) renpronsuo”
The fly of our veins, brimming the sleeve of our clave
I surrender not to the tramples
Like a child awoken to humour by ghosts
“Tetefo) se, 3y3 den na ap)nkyer3ni ho te mfifiri?”
When our agreement on sheet is seen folding beneath craze datum. 

If I sing and preach like the thunderstorms
Of angry birds in the graveyard
And whistle like vultures in paradise of carcasses
With no slim shade of me representing true saving
And I keep it all dried, and still hide in dirty sleeves
Expecting the man of the helm to descend to me
I am nothing worth near patriotism
For,
“W)nsom w)nsom 3ne nipa”
Firis3 3bu travel woa, 3no nkyer3s3 p3s3menkomenya w) ndase3″
I am a fictional jointed soul
Roaming with my fate above boundless traces
I speak not because I have to
But I speak because I need to
Times of our nation,
Hours of our sad condition,
All calling for the loyal writes of our lives
Think as I think,
Reason as I also take to reason
“Na s3 y3n adwen a, daakye mfofo b3dane y3n kwae3”

The Village Thinker © 2014

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