-—Our priest—-


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-—Our priest—-

His forehead kissed the sky
And it became blue
As another tongue
Communed to his lips

O’ spirits
Spirits that sit on thunder
Spirits that spit clouds
Vomit not your anger

His head bowed
Like the frond of the palm
O’ spirits, spirits of this void filled land
Cast not your bile
To barren our cocoyam farms

He raises the ‘Kura’
Cracks his lips into two rivers
One flood with kola saliva
And the other opened the eyes of the herbs

Fathers,
Fathers,
Blind not your hearts
From the fate of these bones
For asamando shares no joy
To the blindness of innocence…

Nana Arhin Tsiwah
© All copyrights reserved, 2015

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