It has been packed
Different in the park
The small, the big and the lazy dig
The bronze, the gold and the crazy pig
So I chose the middle
For them they meddled
In the end we all carried
But easily for the married
I didn't know it was heavy
Very anxious to get to heaven
Horned my ear, the road I was warned
Mourn or not the blood was warm
Once we've carried
Pushing be not tarried
Though it's collection of stones
I thought it is tones of tubers
The road is still expanding
My friends are still extending
Those I met on the ways,
Say I have what it pays
But for my shoes
I'll be the one to choose
My friends drank from fine funnels
In joy linked all the channels
I'm ailing, shaky very unwell
I heal my knee only on the well
At times I cried my ribs were much younger
Most often I tripped, can't control the anger
Though my neck is tired
Dream in mind, my heart so fired
I'll put my load,
Not on the road
But where they did yonder
Why my world, lonely I wonder
For Atta's hut is my vision
With few pushing, I end my mission
In the suburb of the town
Talkers too sit down
"His load cracks his spine"
On my face, they spoke so fine
I reached home
They peeled and ate alone
I with pricking thorns
Peel alone and not eat alone
(19/06/2004, Mamponteng, Kumasi-Ghana)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem