Poetry

May 2, 2016 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

By

Bismark Amoah

 

 

desire for change

 

 

 

I wonder while I walk on wealth

but drained like the prettiest pauper.

I am denied of my legacy

yes, I am cast out of my fortune.

 

I live in my home

as a fragile fugitive;

where corruption is thy master

they play and praise their belly

mowing through the lane of fame.

 

Our leaders lead,

they fill their reeds.

and deceived us

before our bare eyes

that see beyond the sea.

 

They are the gluttons

who looted us of our wealth.

With promises to restore

someday in seven folds.

 

Someday our judge shall judge

for justice to jubilate

by our genuine overlords.

 

Who will whip

their rip-off lips

and feel the pain

in their chest.

 

Till they remove the crest

hanging beneath their bulging breast.

And restore our wealth,

and polish our braids

full of pride

that honours our bride.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

voices from exile

 

 

It was a terrible midnight

the hallucinating nightmare said it all

fearfully startled by the echoes

resounding through the dark corners.

 

I heard their strange voices

in my midnight sleep.

voices calling on thee.

the voice of the voiceless

came back to whisper

A desperate message of despair

destitute in exaggerated institute

carrying the banner of fate less

 

O who are you ?

Why are you here ?

Please stop disturbing my sleepless sleep.

 

the feeble mind only hears

their tormenting calls.

 

Mourn not here

and present thy purpose

to thy tamed generation.

 

my son:

we are your fathers

pulled down by innocent demons.

Preaching peace in our days.

They were those strangers

who confined us

in a stinking sacrilegious cells.

 

There, where time is darkness

and none knows his age

torn apart by hunger

and chastise our daily entertainment.

 

we never saw tomorrow

died before our destiny

before our vision, thus our fate.

 

narrating our mission to thee

for pity and judgement

for we were savagely slain

before our destiny called on thee.

 

my son be ware and be warn,

and never trust mortal men.

lest you sublime.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bismark Amoah

My name is Bismark Amoah, and I am from Ghana. I am a student from the University of Cape Coast, 22 years of age, and have a strong passion for poems and words that rhyme.

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