Skip to main content

Land of Rich Resources

Pure gold is in his every smile,
little boy running down the Korle,
tugging at his high flying kite,
self made millionaire in his own mind,
dreams flying higher than his kite.

Dark Chocolate skin mama,
son fiercely strapped behind under the market sun,
each sweat builds an ocean of dreams,
some day you will sail to bigger dream, Dear Son.

See it in towers planted from 37 to Trassaco
as they reach to touch the heavens,
see it in effigies of founding fathers pointing forward,
dreams cast in stone urging us on onward,
see them and dare to believe.

Hear it in every voice,
unbridled joy, when,
“Let there be light”,
at half past six everyday,
priceless,
a people unbroken,
an unending well of bubbling hope.

It's in the unbroken chains that bind us,
the fierce smiles that warm us,
a babel of languages, yet a people united,
it's not the sweat tainted gold minted coin,
it's the soul binding kinship worth it's weight in gold.

Land of rich resources...

***** March 4, 2014*****








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*****