The rainy season is at
The door once again,
And loneliness has
Brought me a new pillow,
But who is to defend
My repugnant soul?
Can it be the Gods?
Hear this! The rain has
Began knocking at my
Slammer door gradually,
Oh no, it is knocking
And wailing so heavily,
With his icy voice
Of storm and cold
Arresting my hearty dreams,
But I will retch at his smell
And hurry for my handkerchief,
Where is my lantern?
May be, the native doctor
Has the answer to the
Cylindrical jar containing
Her eternal juniper organs,
Indeed, it is my misfortune
To go about with the priest,
For even the child of
The priest even dies at noon,
Ah, I thought she was
Vigilant and ever-ready
To make the debtors
Chew the palm kernels,
But she became the
Portion of the exterior of
The pot that skin can cover,
I have lost my heaven,
Oh no, I have lost the
One whose neck is like a
Bunch of small-fingered plantain,
I have lost the whetstone
On which I sharpen
My thirsty sword to
Perform deeds of valour,
Let the Gods weep!
Let the ancestors wail!
Let the people of Africa,
Give me condolence of
The talking drums,
For their child is gone,
The wise woman who cut
Her thumb in order to get
A wise husband is dead,
Mother, the Okro full of
Seeds of children and literature,
Efua Sutherland, the queen,
The toad likes water, but not
When the water is boiling,
Send me something
When someone is coming,
Efua Sutherland, the queen,
You and I exchange gift.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email:
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