"ghanaian" poems
Sitting calmly aligning in-between the three sitters
Adorn with a silk from milk
Thinking about the libido of her crown
Like a star lost in the galaxy
After seeing a Ghanaian movie
A sudden push through her opening
as placenta push through during birth,
as water break through from underground
a cloth of blood, fought through
She felt it,
she saw it,
But what to do? What not to do? and how?
Was a question demanding an answer,
Like a man lost on the crossroad
On his wedding night,
On his bed
Close to the bride like a ****** bird
To be and not to be like Shakespeare
She shouted
What is this?
Blood!!!
This is the making of a woman
An end to her holiness
A new spring of emotion and pain
No more daddy and mummy play
Remember "Always" always
When the visitor is around
you are now a woman
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 4:45 AM UTC
The beloved country Africana can boast of is Ghana. The manana of Africana black star is Ghana A nation rich in culture and natural pasture.
Its nature reflects the creatures’ caricature
We are black reflecting our true beauty.
And we are packed with captivating ability. The typicality of our nationality brings unity. Who knows whether our safety lies in our variety?
This unity amidst our diversity is our reportage. About twenty-four million are surviving in our age. Over sixty ethnic groups and fifty-two major languages. There are hundreds of dialects which are to our advantages.
In W/A, Ghana records the highest percentage of Christianity… Yet the modernity of our sanity portrays minds of malignity. But the fraternity of our humanity builds our community. The variety of our morality and privity builds our society
Who said Ghana cannot be capaciously superfluous? We have the very illustrious and exuberant resources. The elites and the voracity are harnessing the recourses. The destitute remains poor and the gentry linger the forces
Our democratic government is an African paradigm. Our peaceful political regime is of no pantomime. Who of course would help us measure corruption? The whole nation would have tensed up to eruption.
If not the gargantuan wayomelogy of the wayometer. Who knows whether the next tool would be attameter? Who wouldn’t love to be a proud Ghanaian to enjoy our hilarious fila and jargons tongue can employ
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
Take me back to the days of a Ghanaian sunset.
When hope dwelled above the waters of despair
And I gazed into the eyes of a sinking soul.
Where trust and fear were honest and pure --
Felt in the mountains, cities and fishing boats alike.
I want the hot air, the mango juice dripping down my hand, the dirt kicked up around my shoes, the roosters in the streets, the taxi cab dodgeball games, the eggshell passenger rides, and the shy children singing across from me on the shore. Because I want it all back.
It's the feeling I had when I was there in a wide space so open -- it is a feeling I call free.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
I am a Ghanaian girl born on Basotho land. I ask you why my relatives know how to speak Twi and I don't, it was then when I was aware of the decision you had made to keep me away. My family has been filled with Ghanaians who can speak their native tongue but you made me the only different. When it's all set and done I do not know my native tongue. The truth is my I'm filled with Basotho air rather than the identity of Ghanaian princess. I was born to you as a citizen. I am trying to join them but I am stuck. Also, I wonder, who am I?I haven't come to a conclusion. I am forever shopping for a new identity. So I am an actor, I did Drama in high school and usually I have my props on stage but in this poem all my props are gone. I'm just revealed with nothing to hide asking myself who am I?I could say I am diverse but then again I think not. It's sad how I can't even pronounce my own name.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC
Canadian or Ghanaian, which one do I choose
This conflict I experience always leaves me confused.
Who am I and where am I from.
Do I say where I was born or what's in my blood.
First generation Canadian, should I be proud?
Is it okay that I can't speak any Twi?
If I don't know my parents language, is the culture still with me?
How do I identify, what is authentic, what is the truth, and what is right?
Some thoughts I think about when I lie awake at night.
I feel like my parents culture is just going to get washed away
That I'll have no trace of Ghanaian culture in me.
And I don't give learning the culture the time of day,
To help me become who I want to be.
Because I love saying I'm Canadian, I love what it entails.
It is the country that I call home.
But I love what my parents show me about Ghanaian culture.
I enjoy thinking about the unknown.
So you see my dilemma and why I'm so lost, why I don't know who to be.
Why I don't know how I should explain my culture, I'm still working on my identity.
And I guess there's no rush, I can use either or.
It'll depend on the context of the question that is asked.
But it's who I am, it means so much more,
It is how I define to who I am.
I take pride in both cultures, I want them both, my definition has no restrictions.
So next time I'm asked where I'm from, I'll explain that I'm a Ghanaian Canadian.
I guessed I'm not as confused as I originally thought, I know who I am inside.
A Ghanaian Canadian, that's my identity, and I'll identify with it till I die.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
Infancy talked to me various languages, switching
Tonalities for different melodies, to be learnt.
Naturally acquiring the discernment, recognising
Faces and voices to choose applicable native tongues.
English with my father, whose name echoed as Plato,
Iranian with my mother, Italian with my siblings, French
With school teachers, Greek on summer holidays.
Growing up my hair and accents, led to the inevitable
Repetitive question, ‘Where are you from?’
Timidly answered as it was hard to comprehend, until I set
Myself to do so untiringly drafting precious family trees.
Investigations interrogating relatives to exhaustion,
Ignited my pride for every single drop of blood,
Composing me and drawing borders
On geographical maps delineating my essence.
My story was one of many, they labelled me a multi-ethnic,
For my daddy’s naissance in Accra from a mulatto beauty
Queen, daughter of a British doctor and his Ghanaian lady friend.
For her husband, his Hellenic pater, son of Chios, born in Sudan.
For my mummy’s naissance in Tehran from a noble
Banker, progeny of the Qajar dynasty originally Turkic,
And his pure blood Persian wife.
My parents met in England where they studied only
To marry and move to pre-revolutionary Iran. I was born
In Rome where they fled, when insurrections began.
Now if someone asks I forcefully respond,
“From planet Earth. A terrestrial little sphere at the heart
Of its star system, on the edge of its galaxy lost
Somewhere in space in the maze of the Universe.
My story is one of many, I labelled us humans.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 1:54 AM UTC