A Tribute to My Lord HGY; on the loss of a Great Mind

Far above the thatched roofs of despair,

Away from the mournful echoes of this great sea,

my Lord leaves,

in a palanquin carried high above the tattered hearts

that still yearn for him.

“What shall we do when we miss you?”

Shall we call unto you with

our already sorrow-spent voices?

Will you rise from your uncertain resting place

and speak to us again?

Perhaps you will answer us

and appease our crushed souls.

Far above this Chosen land,

My Lord leaves,

mourned by King and water-bearer alike.

Away from this hermit kingdom,

my Lord leaves,

his return very uncertain.

Rising Sun, Beaten Earth

It is a new day, but it does not feel like it.

My spirit longs to be free,

and my very soul cries for a touch of humanity.

A savage beast has claimed every remnant of the person I used to be,

and left behind an orphan of sorts.

I struggle to reclaim,

but I cannot fight for that which is mine.

My strength has vanished,

and I look in vain for it.

I beg for an intervention from one I used to know,

but he is silent to my pleadings.

I wonder whether he sees or hears me,

for all I am now is Beaten Earth under a Rising Sun.

True Friendship

‘Tis true friendship that makes
life bearable,
‘Tis the warm embrace of your
true heart that carries me away

from tempestuous days,
‘Tis your loving words that
reassure me when I doubt my self,
‘Tis your gentle ears that pay
heed to my trials and my victories,
‘Tis your loving soul that rejoices
with me even when I don’t have
the strength to delight in the day,
‘Tis your crazy spirit that
tells me it is okay to be
ridiculous at times,
It’s your true friendship
that makes life worthwhile.

All I Have

You who propel the sun,

You who hold the moon in perfect balance,

You who conduct the stars in perfect unison, give heed to my prayer

Rescue me from my own mortality and imperfection

Pay heed to my unreasonable wants and needs, and grant them.

Judge me with lenience when I turn my face away from your light.

Carry me in your countenance, when my steps get heavy and weary.

Love me even when I bruise your soul, for you are all I have.

These Hills

These hills, they seem to call out to me

with the voice of my long lost village love.

They emerge out of the earth, embracing the sky-

like a proud virginal princess bride, ready to meet her prince.

These hills – I long to lie at its feet, bask in its shade and

Carelessly wish these tempestuous days away.

I desire to climb its steep arms-

perhaps to accomplish something in this simple haunted life.

These hills, I desire to bequeath this helpless,

tortured soul into its strong, immense, beautiful bosom.

Slowly

Slowly, stealthily, gently I crawl.

Into a world unknown I proceed,

with the beats of my naive heart cautioning me.

I hesitate but I proceed,

I look back once more at the path of knowns,

but you tug at me and with quiet hesitations I follow.

You lead me and I refuse to pay heed to the warnings.

Years of wisdom envelop me but I shrug it away,

with a heart in want I embrace you

Slowly, stealthily, gently we become one.

Africa

Out of our Mother’s greatness, we now stand, prodigal sons ashamed to return to the village of our birth;

Out of our father’s immense power, as we once stood as Nananom[1] and Ahemaa[2], we now stand weak, struggling to rise up with every sin-fueled step;

Out of regal ceremonial cloth, we now stand, stripped naked to the skin;

Out of gold palanquins[3] carried high above our festive villages, we now stand, stooped in disgrace;

Out of conquering Kingdoms we once ruled, we now stand, lonely huts on the banks of rebellious rivers;

Out of you Africa, we now stand, repented children yearning to restore you to your glorious throne.

This is a prayer coming from the depths of a broken soul

It is a prayer for lost loves,

for the loves we have had to give up and the ones who gave us up,

for the ones we have surrendered to the hollow softness of the harsh earth,

for the loves we yearn to see walk through the door everyday,

but know they lie in the rubble of what used to be mighty buildings,

This is a prayer for the lost loves we touch in our dreams,

but flee from us at the sight of morning light,

This is a prayer for the lost loves, who did not belong to us,

but we still tried to hang onto,

This is a prayer for the lost loves who had to look on helplessly,

as life thrashed us,

This is a prayer for lost loves,

that we never forget them, yet know peace,

peace that helps us heal,

and still hold on to what’s left of them.

Akwaaba is the Akan word for Welcome. I welcome all to this blog which will mostly be a place for sharing my poetry, prose and rantings. I love writing poetry as much as I love reading it, and writing remains one of the most effective methods of therapy. You are welcome to share your own writing as well, and hope this will be an interesting journey indulging yourself in the world of creative writing.