the lion that is toothless
the she-goat that never gave birth
and of the antelope
that was rejected by the spirits.
of a land fueled to nothing
where treasures are
but found not in the pockets of her souls
and which leaves a tree to nothing
but a broken cowrie that milks no future.
I heard a hissing soul
the fall of a legend
the rise of a woman
whose breast is dried
so wherefore shall her children suckle
when the land that gives milk is dried?
The 15th century of invasion continues
the rise of canoe balls
the rise of sails on the tongue of the sea
still probes her evil saliva on this land
and so the struggle still runs on—
He was here teaching us the truth
that man and his aides
we swallowed his diagnostic prescription
yes, we swallowed and here we are wallowing
for we, deep in our free spirits
thought every truth was absolutely truth
and not a glimpse of a tale that
not every truth was indeed a divine wholesomeness.
The guns we longed for
the dried gin we sold our minds for
are the smoke and wails
evaporating from the corridors of our nations—
the streams of lust wrought in us
a brother begs for mercy
a mother begs for her belly
but the man at the top is an ugly greedy being
who sees no reason to deem a soul his half.
I see your dust feet at this hut
your sweat dishing out like scissors
and o’ heart pounding souls of Nigeria
the bee of strife keep her sting alive
and where poverty takes her matcheté
she slashes throats of souls
where Ghana is like a broken wing bird
whose feathers no longer shoot to fly
for the ugly torrent of the rains
has beaten the zeal in her black star to fade.
Times are flying on rooftops
machine guns are spilling blood
blood-bath sweeping her shores
and hunger eating out bellies
am sad, intoned to weep
but my throat is barren
and the echoes still hit the wall of no ears.
The Village Thinker © 2014