Nana Kwamena Ansah.


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Akan Chief

Nana Kwamena Ansah

my King, yellow buds have settled on our flagging flower,
white butterflies have danced backwards out of time
they say, the fire of the hunter has dimmed on his way home
he no longer finds the trails of ashes which leaked from his threaded sack,
green ferns gather in number on palm trees;
they swim under deep tapped roots of innocence

my Lord, flamboyant flames glow out of mahogany trunks
it laces bequeathed bee to childless crowns
thick clouds anoint their burned foreheads with kernel oil
the firmer their weights coalesce, the uglier they grow
the uglier they grow, the warmer the feet avows
holding helpless anthropological anthems at wake of dawn

a letter from the carpenter sent for your ears whiles at family sitting,
it reads with Obaahema’s apparel dotted in red pigment
it reads with heavy and overpowering proverbs
proverbs that licked the brain by the saw’s piercing teeth
I knew at glance, from the battling alphabets that
our old butterfly has broken its wing whilst attempting to deep-breath

Nana, to this day, the log hasn’t been carved;
those over-priced boards have failed to meet at measure
where the old nails kept dancing anguishly
ever since your wooden stool got the looks of the rain,
the sun and the moon have heightened their unrepaired enmity…

© Nana Arhin Tsiwah

Posted from WordPress for Android

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