One day I shall travel to my heart


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(For the 3 Northern Regions)

It is with regret and tunes of sadness
That I play this harp
Siting alone under my own confused mashed thought
I ask my own dried soul
Why its waters are dried up
Even when there is no sign
of the bully of the harmattan

This night, this very day
As signs of no keeps
The jeep inside fumes with no say
Who would believe me
If I said my skin is only an inverted mirror of the south
But my true soul
Is a soul born under the boabab of the north

Like shea-butter
I don’t easily and freaking forget my home
I don’t seed when I lack barnes for storage
But this sun of the north
With striking rays of her talons
I have vowed to let her bath me
Twice before summer and twice before winter

Let the guinea fowl dance on the yam farm
Let one maxium pour her rain
And the beautiful lips of her diverse people
Speak multiple languages
like the anointing of the Holy Spirit
Possessing hearts like the day of pentecost
I still vow to her dry belly
For it is only under your round old huts
I shall feed with Abdul and Rabiu

The Village Thinker © 2014

#To my Northern, Upper East and West Regions friends and families in Ghana.

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