John Agandin

With light nervous steps, he trod in
As one aroused from an upshot of gin
And stood abashed, a shadow ill-prepared,
His sealed quivering lips unassured
...

When I die,
Cry not your heart out
Nor weep any tears at my grave
I will not see you, cry for me now.
...

Some nights, when the moon is happy
Smiling broadly from its heavenly home.
A small crowd gathers in the yard;
Grandma, mother, aunty and the others
...

Behold the light fades and rises not
And the cute little stars hide in shame
The moon fears to show her face
And day and night become as one.
...

There is a house, half in ruins
At the other end of the village
Battered and ravaged by wind and rain
Half the walls lie prostrate
...

And in the last days one arose
Wielding great power and fury
With hair the colour of fire
A tongue speaking many profanities
...

I heard a man had a dream once
It was a bold dream
And they shot him down cold
Dreams are dangerous things!
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The sun is searing hot and pitiless
Hurling down fierce fuming rays.
The earth roasts under his angry gaze
As meat over blazing coals.
...

Weeding the fields couldn't be more delightful!
Though backs are breaking in the noonday heat
Palms blistering from gripping rigid hoe sticks
Sweat trickling down the groins of labouring kinsmen
...

It was a beauteous night, and dusty
And we were all mum and droopy
Whilst the preacher droned on
And the rest of the world lived on
...

Take a walk down the village path
And read the tales on its face.
A thousand tales told and retold
In the marks of those gone before.
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I do my crying in the rain
Shrieking with the thunder
Howling with the wind
So that my tears are washed away
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On an hallowed spot at home,
Stands a tall, mighty baobab.
Steeped in myth and legend
A massive and hefty girth
...

I walk my beat in many cities and markets
Up and down in the perspiring sun.
From Tamale to Kumasi Kejetia
From Techiman to Takoradi market circle
...

The rain is falling all year round
Falling, falling, falling… everywhere!
It rains on the mountains and hills
And on the shops in the valleys.
...

The day and the hour draws nigh
When all shall return to Him
Who did form them of word and clay
And did give to all His own breath
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It is a topsy-turvy world this
For not the doers that count
Not the men in the arena
Not those faces marred by dust and blood
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Oh bright and innocent Lilium,
Why do you wail in the mountain breeze?
Golden Splendour, scented Robina,
Why envy the crimson-rose?
...

Hurt not the trees!
The trees! The trees!
Oh hurt not the trees!
These majestic giants,
...

First came the pale ants
Who gazed in wonder upon the land
Stretching to the horizon and beyond,
Man, bird, and beast roamed free
...