The branches of Africa
Are gnashing their teeth
In liberation and sorrow,
Whiles the Kwahu mountains
Have frown over the horizon,
Oh yes, the brave has
No right to winnow
Such an ultimately subpoena,
For the sumptuous
Sunbeam has sullied
The pride of Nkroful,
Is that the great man
Resting in a lonely palace?
Dreaming of darkness
And infinite vacuum?
Is there no ointment
To take this sting of
Cotton out of the mind?
Is that the proud son of Africa
With his heart still
Dreaming in tears of blood?
Kwame indeed had no
Cure for his sick pride,
Nor the taste of
His glorious suffering,
Oh no, the sun has
Stretched her scorching
Face over his eyelids,
That everyone who
Passes by him shall
Hiss and shake his fist,
His clasp are now held
Together on his abdomen,
Never again shall the
Straying lighting of the
Hills and valleys weep
Over the stratum of Africa,
Osagyefo is no more
For the right arm
Of Fathiah is broken,
But the Gods
Shall not rest,
Until Africans see the light.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
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