Gabada For Christiansborg Poem by Kris Atta Pappoe

. GABADA FOR CHRISTIANSBORG


Walking the plank of self ridicule.
Crying, crying in the rain.
Jumping at the bite of flea
Thinking it’s the bite of an adder.
Hola there! Chanting, the cries of Datsutagba,
Nsamankow, Adowa!
Cries unheard for centuries,
Emanating from the Braggart’s stomach
Braggart! Braggart, Bragging down African Avenue.

Brag Azania, Brag Namibia, Brag Zimbabwe.
Imposing conferences dissipating Africa’s bosom.
Firing empty cannons to tame the Moon
Threats, threats, threats, vibrating along Mosquito Avenue.
Every dawn crying: Christmas soon,
Then back again to their scorching savannas
And their ancestral kraals,
And over the endless banquets
In their glittering palaces,
Leaving each to fight his own battle.
Someday, there will be action.

Oh yes, will the saber-rattling ever cease, Africa?
When will the innocent blood
Rise to the Heaven of your feeling?
When will the wailing widows of Dafur, Zimbabwe, Congo,
Mean anything to you in your Prison Palaces?
And your false sense of royalty and pomp?

Will the sight of innocent orphans
Languishing in your prison – prison-refugee camps,
Never soften your hearts of stone?

When will the lining of your bottomless pockets
With the Blood Aids Funds, famine Horror Donations,
War Atrocity compensations,
Ever be filled to satiation?
When will these stop and your Sphinx gazes
Now turn to your promises?
Promises of yesterday, that raised you,
Beyond the gutters of your nightmares,
Onto these pedestals of horror.
From which you look down,
Frankenstein’s of our own deluded creation-
You look down with scorn,
On us, the architects of your mistaken elevations?
Oh Africa! Africa!

When will the Bragging cease?
And the Breed emerge to save this great land,
Of Agu and Agu, of Olodumare, of Asase Yaa and Onyankopong,
Of Kitikata the Merciful…
And their doomed people?
Where are the New Healers for our ails?
We the doomed.
We await them, at the altar of our dreams.