Skip to main content

Who Is Responsible

Forget it; forget it all,
Colonialism, Neo-colonialism, Imperialism,
They didn’t cause this fall,
Some raison d'ĂȘtre must exist,
A rationale for this I-Don’t-Careism,
Would you tell me?

Who’s to blame,
You, them, or me
For the way we are?

How do we explain
That we didn’t hear when Samuel F. Morse sent,
“What God hath wrought”?
Or when the brothers Wright took to flight,
Or that we know not from whence we came
Or to where we go?

Tell me, who is responsible?

Whom do I ask?
The excited barefooted children
Sitting under the blistering tropical sun singing,
“In the bleak midwinter…”
Or should I ask you sitting there, trying
To be like “Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat…”?

When the drums did beat,
Your feet couldn’t, wouldn’t dance,
You were lost to it all,
Adowa, Agbadza even the Kpanlogo stance,
You swayed not to home-brewed rhythms;
Who is to blame?

Here, near the centre of the Earth,
Passions, not actions define all factions,
Here where the Sun kisses length and breadth,
Fingers are pointed for days on end.

Who is responsible, for
That frisky Gypsy tipsy from whiskey
Or that boy high on something
Waiting for the wheel of fortune to come rolling?

What of the state of the realms?
What of you, me?
Who will guard us from ourselves?
Who will guard the guardian of the guards?

Who is responsible,
For loggolliggii logics?
Expert analysis given on all topics.

Who is responsible,
for the wasting away of years?
Does he not know,
We buy a timepiece, not time?

Whom do I ask these questions on my mind?
You, them, or me
And would I an answer ever find?

Who is responsible for what we’ve become?
A people who ask, “Who is responsible?”

*****July 20, 2007******

Adowa: Traditional Dance of the Akans
Agbadza: Trational Dance of the Ewes
Kpanlogo: Traditional Dance of the Gas
Loggolliggii: Crooked or Zig-Zag (a Ga word)

Popular posts from this blog

They Don't Teach us how to Grieve

They don't teach young men How to grieve.

Be a man, Stand strong, Men don't cry, They say.
That's how we are made.
Somewhere, There's a conveyor belt Constantly chucking out Boys, with pent-up toxic emotions, Shoulders hunched under the weight of society's expectations.
There's a piece of wood in my mouth I bite hard on it praying I don't black out As I saw off another weakness I saw in the mirror.
Something about Better to enter the Kingdom With one arm...
I don't know...
A brother died today,

Bats at 37

When bats at 37 take to flight, At a quarter past four Or, whatever time Accra heralds the night,

When bats at 37 take to flight, For me, there's not a more beautiful sight Of creatures, imagined or real, That lay claim to these glorious skies.

When bats at 37 take to flight, With fevered screeches that punctuate the night When by sheer numbers they darken the skies And, below, people of a superstitious disposition Can not be bothered, I am reminded that, Given enough time all things cease to be strange.

When bats at 37 take to flight, Devoid of vibrant plumes unlike most things that fly, Rising like Legion and the hordes of hell, In defiance of extermination attempts, Above the Hospital in elusive figurativeness, Haphazardly, in sync, over constipated traffic There is not a doubt who owns the peppered night.

When bats at 37 take to flight;

Finding God

The inexplicable
Is proof there's a God.

This, for me,
Is where doubt began.
For if we know today
More than we did yesterday
Then, God is
a constantly contracting chamber of ignorance.

Now if it is so
And God is the Lord of gaps
Then men of religion
May be forgiven
For their unrelenting battle
Against knowledge;
The God Killer.

But if God is
the beginning of wisdom
And his people perish
For lack of knowledge
And if we know today
More than we did yesterday

Then it stands to reason
That the God to believe in
Is an ever-expanding explosion of knowledge.

I have no faith
In the God of gaps
For God must be Omniscient
And ignorance is not
This, for me, is where doubt ends.

*****April 22, 2017*****