(In memoria of the nation that never resurrected)
Ask the world beyond:
The fight is not for the muscular
Neither the palace for heavings of charlatanism.
The battle is not for self-tormented mortals
Archiving their hearts in the name of disguised evil-fear!
It is for the limbers of gods and divinities
The sanctimonious utopian goddesses who lost lust…
In praise of the gods,
I have placed a willing for the God.
In praise of the ancestors,
I have placed this omen of an oracle in droplets.
For in cows and flames,
yields vegetables and plaques.
The fire soaked the water instead
Causing felony to be appraised
By the holier men in the holiest of holies.
The peoples man, the man’s people
Have gone home castrated by the masses
In the throbbing manger of alcoholism
For in doom, the heavenly smiled no more!
With our pleas fleeing the obesiances of the sea,
Would deserted discomfort souls
No more pay courtesy call on divine federalism and centralism
For we, (a people of discomfort), watch from pigeon-holes
Those warm embraces of the moon
That never settled on the poor man’s hut.
Nana Arhin Tsiwah
(The Village Thinker)
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