The season of indefinite dilemma,
Why are you wailing?
Should I choose between
The image and the shadow?
Hmm, Okyeman is still waiting
To choose between victory
And his twain brother, defeat,

Alright, Okyeman!
Give me back my bread
And take away my water,
No, give me back my water
And take away my air,
No, give me back my air
And take away my pride,

No, give me back my pride
And take away my life,
No, give me back my life
And take away my good name,
No, give me back my good name
And take away my nothing,

Ah, my bread is buttered with blood,
Whiles the air is still socked with tension,
Is that the Ashanti infantary approaching
Swiftly from the far west for bloodshed?
Can anyone cease the head
Of this nephew of Obiri Yeboa?

The head of this great King,
Osie Tutu is ours today,
Indeed, when crocodiles
Eat their own eggs,
What will they not do
To the flesh of a toad?


© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com

Blessed are you who drink my pain
And swallow my seasonal worry,
Where were you,
When the slave master
Took away my pride and destiny?

Stop crying over me,
For I have truly
Exchanged my honey for their bees,
And the walls of ignorance and oppression
Are drawn down over my ballad,

Oh yes, the cockroach will not be safe
In the gathering of fowls,
But you need to stop crying.


© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com

Look, blow the horn!
Cry, gather together!
Take refuge!
Do not delay!
Lament and wail!
For the fierce anger
Of the gods have not
Turned back from you,
Obama comes back home,

Be astonished, oh heavens,
And be horribly afraid,
Set up signposts!
For the broken calabash
Can hold no water
But a ****** blood,
Obama comes back home,

Can anyone behold
Your great plagues?
Oh Africa, my Africa,
The fruitful womb under
Fierce eternal siege,
Do not look up to the West!
And thou shall be saved,
Obama comes back home.


© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com

The ivory of the egotistical lily,

The morning hymn of the pious jenny,

The dazzling ebony African beauty,

The sweet spice that seasons my honey,

Rain thy glaring love once again

Upon my careless dispirited pride,

As I rain these tender tears

Upon this stagnant dry land,



I have tasted thy venial venom

With seasonal ache and repentance,

Now, purge my narrow breath of life

From this wicked roaring hunter

Who fire’s at my forlorn nights,

Do not preserve this deficit of mine

For our innocent image,

Lest the gods of the City of the Dead

Keep close to our naked hut,



Calibrate my disobedience with thy soft wind,

And let not thy fierce storm approach,

Resurrect my muscles from the grave

And cover my bones with the flesh of thy kisses,

Open thy wonderful cataract to stream

From thy tongue into my barren bones,

And seal my cockcrow and thy twilight

In the clouds of thy slender cotton wool,



Come, oh my dear Kabutuwaa,

Come and visit my farm this bedtime

And let us **** the blazing stars mutually,

Set free the promising arrow of my daylight

And the pretty bow of thy nightfall

Via the thick murkiness of this gulf,

Allow me to crawl up thy tree of life

And taste of its couple peach anew,

For my craving lips longs for thy

Indispensable eternal ******.


© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com

Thou art beautiful, Kabutuwaa,
Thou art very beautiful indeed,
See how thy skin colour
Portrays the true beauty of Mama Africa,

Thou art the darkness that gave birth
To light on the day of creation,
Thy humble character inspires
Thy divinely given blackness,

She is the beauty that every precious
Hook seeks to lay the hands on,
Yes, she is the greatest beauty
That nature has ever invested in,

She is the only moon that brightens
The boiling sun in my village,
Obaahemaa is in fact the barrier
Between tomorrow and the down,

Even though she is at the
Other side of the moon,
The drummer shall continue
Beating in deep silence,

If she hears the beating
Of his heart and she is willing,
She shall surely run towards home,

Let all the market women
Come along with their logbooks,
And enjoy the flooding fire,

Let the drums and the rich
Resonant voices Of Okyeman
Put their hands and throats to play,

Alert the slave master
Of this montage occasion,
For the true taste of the

Sacred calico has grown dim
And the echoes of the drizzling rain
Have erupted the volcanic mountains,

Her name is Yaa Kabutuwaa,
Born on a beautiful Thursday morning,
Offer my darling with the seasonal cloth

In its rich natural taste and sight,
For nature has nothing to gain
Except romantic visions and dreams,

Look up!
There she stands on her slender legs
In the middle of the blazing sun,
Spreading her lovely wings over my loneliness,

Call her by her name!
Sit her down!
Sing to her the secret bee’s song of love
To cool down her thirsty heart,

But if my true shining beauty
Will agree, give her a place in
My heart to sleep this night.


© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com

When life words strayed,
Everything for my life was betrayed,
Nothing good for the monkeys,
Neither any door for the keys,

See how swiftly my life has grown
Causing my skin to brown,
To the gods, it is the blessing of rain,
To me, it is the blessing of pain,

When life was questionable,
Everything for life was edible,
Nothing good to ****,
Neither any way to the hill,

Yes, the hill that covers my pillows,
Sending my soul to the gallows,
Hmm, life has gone completely gaga,
Indeed, my life is a complete saga.


© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com

Though the hill of life decencies
Into the terror of the valley of death,
Thy river must still flow into my sea,
Though thy yoke of love is full of magic,

Causing the pleasure of thy love to shine,
Thy eyes and mine must still dance in rhythm,
Indeed, the honey behind the magic of love is our
Strong wings that must still fly above the heavens.

© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com