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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*****








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Executioner's Business

I have not come here
To put back together
The Guinea fowl egg
That was broken on Her Majesty's sandals.

I am an Executioner.
The why and the how matters not,
It's the Who.

Those who in malice
Destroy good food in fits of pettiness
Then turn to mock the distended bellies
Of hungry children
Shall know no peace.

But today,
It is not scoffing egg breakers that vex me.

It is,
Those who in silence watched
While the dirty deed was done,
Unconcerned about hungry mouths,
Then proceeded to,
on the miscreants
behalf, plead for mercy,
It is they who stir my bile.

So may I not be blamed
When in swinging my blade
I, accidentally, chop off the heads
Of wailers who stand too close to the guilty.

The Executioner's job is urgent business
I have no time for the niceties
Of giving, those who loiter, final warnings.

***** August 3, 2016*****


Bedtime Epiphany of a Pining Heart

Tonight,
I contemplated
On things that were and were not,
On why
Light retracts different, in your eyes,
Like rainbows randomly ricocheting
Off my intangible thoughts,
Spellbinding...

On why,
Words sound different, on your lips,
How you laugh,
How the sounds take a path,
Across infinite dreams,
Into all my incarnations,
Into all my iterations,
Into all...

Tonight,
I concluded
You are a figment
of my imagination,
You must be...

For
God is not so cruel
That he made a Heaven like you
Then condemned me
To the Hell of perpetual longing
Wanting, and never belonging...

*****September 14, 2016*****


God is My Barber

The sickness that made the Vulture bald
would have killed the Crow.

It is because
the gods are petty
and would not be questioned
about who they show favor to,
That Crows live to,
Squawk hysterically
At Vultures' misfortune.

We have come to understand, that,
when a petty god is your barber,
Crows, who can't afford a razor,
with their benevolent destinies,
will punctuate our precious peace
with their shameless snickering.

but
the Vulture
neither
pays any mind
nor
wages a war of words
with mockers and scoffers;
for the cure for baldness
is not found in the laughter of Crows...

*****April 4, 2017*****

http://morganes-photographe.deviantart.com/
My Second poem about Vultures. I really need to stop this...😂😂😂