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.
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