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We Have Lost a Song (Tribute to Kofi Awoonor)

We Have Lost a Song (Tribute to Kofi Awoonor)

We find ourselves at the confluence of tears and pride

Our feet and arms too weak to paddle us across the river of sorrow we drown in

The songbird that chirps the songs of our ancestral beauty has been shot down

And the wind echoes the deep silence it has left behind

The warmth in our songs has been stolen

Now the cold cloth of pain and loss embraces us

As though we share a common lineage

They have indeed poured bile on our tongues

But we are the sons and daughters of singing hunter

The great warrior whose potent weapon was his tongue

Which unfolded many leaflets of life’s songs

Hidden from every day’s eye

The hunter whose tongue was the anvil of on which

the rebirth of our songs was forged

The warmth of your voice that lingers in the ears of our hearts

Gives us hope as we carve your name in the hearts of our history

 

The feet of our emotions wobble like cassava leaves in the dry winds

We lift our calabashes of our ears and hearts to have them filled but

you are not here to serve us

And so we burn  of thirst

The sun has pulled a dark blanket over its face

so Agbenorxevi hums it’s song rather than sing it

and the  morning dew perspires as our tears water the grounds on which we stand

So the river bird sings of you not returning

For you had crossed the boundary to the other side of no return

We do not believe you are gone away

But alas, the river bird never lies about crossings

 

 

‘Wobɛ ahloɛ medoa nyi fɔkpa ooo

Yata Nyidevu amekea nebe ne do woa afɔkpa?’

Hmmm ati ga ade mu,

Nɔfe adeke mega li na xeviwo woa dze

Adzi ha viviwo nami o.

 

Today we long to hear your voice echo in the valley of

The blooming cornfields of life

Ready once again for you to set our spirits

on journeys of real identity discovery

With our mouths metamorphosing in to beautiful butterflies of smile of gratitude

That developed from the cocoons of our hearts

 

Yet the hunter, whose greatest weapon was to songs of his tongue, is mute to our calling.

 

Mute to the sounds of these same hollow pipe that spat metal pillets

That stole the breath of your song

The elders say there is nothing the eye will see that will make it shed blood

But they lied for the eyes of our hearts shed tear of blood etched on scrolls for you

Though your silence is deafening

And the distance between us undefined

We know Kitikata will wipe our tears with the gentleness

Of your undefined memories that are as soothing as a bed of detifufu

As we are assured that you still live on in our hearts.

 

 

 

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Posted by on October 7, 2014 in Poems

 

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The man Komla Dumor and Friendship.

The man Komla Dumor and Friendship.

I’m one of those who feels disgusted at how people flood their timelines of Facebook and other social media avenues with tributes to famous people who have passed away. You can actually read through the lines that since others are doing it the also want to do it and most lack that convincing tone that the person really had a certain sort of influence on their lives.And so I will like to state categorically that this is not a tribute to Komla Dumor but more of a celebration of his life and one of the basic things he valued in life that runs across all the tributes pouring forth from people he was really close to. FRIENDSHIP.

I will not for once pretend to be an expert on Komla Dumor because I never met the man in my life. Indeed his death is now sinking in. The best I’ve come to meeting him is watching him on my TV screen or listen to his voice on radio. In so many ways his voice always reminded me of my late father ‘s voice in spite of the fact that they are both Komla. Though my father’s voice was not as rich as his, the mere fact that they both still had that uniqu unadulterated Ghanaian tone despite their exploits outside Ghana when they spoke was something I really admired.

In my decades on earth, I have lost people who are very dear to me. I have seen very close friends and relative got through real tough times and I have been down that road on several occasions. Yet I have risen up and seen people rise because of the people they surrounded themselves with.  It is said that you know your true friends when misfortune knocks you flat on the floor and in most cases this is very true.One thing I have learnt through the tributes that are pouring forth for Komla Dumor is that he is someone who valued friendship. Just reading some of the tributes or even listening to them reflect how much of a loss his demise is to those who knew him personally.

Reading Francis Doku .Anny Osabutey, Kwame Gyan, Manasseh, Maama AB’s tributes about Komla and listening to Doreen, Sahmens, Jimmy Quist, Herbert Mensah, Kojo Oppong among others makes me realize that unless you get to know someone do not stand on the sidelines and conclude that the person is arrogant or, egocentric.Get to know the person and then you can decide on what perception to hold on to. Truth be told, I’ve had that same experiences in life and the one that stands out for my was during my latter days in Nafti when, a friend Stella told me that before we became friends she saw me to be very arrogant, too knowing and egocentric. Indeed people do have these perceptions about others and trust me, I always come to the defense of my friends or people I really know when people express these perceptions about them.

The least we can do is to celebrate our friends in life before we die or they die.  Just this Saturday as I sat down with some friends reflecting on Komla’s demise, I told them that we need to keep those who we care about close to our heart and remind them every now and then of how much they mean to us. We need to respect each other and our choices despite the differences in them, learn to forgive and let go, fight our battles fairly, be graceful and grateful in our victories and love like it’s the last time you’d have the opportunity to. Komla was just human like anyone of us and might have had his other side but his death has actually projected the side of him people who were close to him really loved. My wish however was all these should have been done when he was here with us.Indeed I do have very little friends but I know my friends can attest to the fact that I do hold friendship in high esteem, unfortunately this once cost me a love relationship when the lady told me I took friendship too seriously.

I do not know how Komla has impacted on your life but the question you should be asking yourself right now is, will those who claim to be your friends have something to bring a beaming smile that will rival the sun to their faces as they grieve on your demise? How true are you with the persons you call your friends? What kind of perception do they have about you, based on your relationship with them? The era of keeping silent and waiting for someone to pass away before we celebrate the person must cease and as we also wait for our turn to die, let each and everyone of us do some critical retrospect of our individual lives and those we affect and make sure our candles are burning right.

RIP Komla Afeke Dumor.

 
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Posted by on January 20, 2014 in ARTICLES

 

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Memories (For DAD)

Memories (For DAD)

Today marks exactly three years ,my Dad passed away. This morning as I woke up the events of that particular day just rolled down my memory’s lane. Painful at it is, I choose to dwell on all times we shared together and the lessons I learned from him. A lot of people who knew him celebrate him as a hero but he was more than that to my siblings and I. This poem is to his honor.

The Irish say when your father dies,

You lose your umbrella against bad weather

But with the tools you equipped us with,

We have stood our ground and tilled the fields of our lives

We have cultivated joy in place of sorrow

Gratitude in place of questions

Tears have been magically changed to smile

For the rainbow of the sweet fragrance of memories clear the clouds

Of shackled pain and anguish that trapped our hearts

We think about the fleeting years, too quickly, gone for good
It seems like only yesterday

The events drip down our memories like blood form an open sore

You were our shelter when Mummy passed on,

No matter what the storms of life brought down on you,
You held the tapestry of our lives together like the waft and weft in a loom.

And instilled in us the fear of the Lord.

Papa Gee, You taught us that hard work pays off,
And so the lives you tended now overflow

Like the banks of a never drying river

Our lives are bountiful

For you taught us how to give
In your firm and steadfast way
You taught us how to live.

Three years down the lane, we are all smiles when we talk about you

And all we can do is thank God for giving us a father like you.

 
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Posted by on August 9, 2013 in Poems

 

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