Kwame atta Pappoe
When the primal dust has settled
And wide-eyed in stupefied wonder,
We pick up the broken shards,
Of our invincible selves,
When we raise ourselves from
Ignoble positions of defeat from the lowly dust.
And hear the jeers and boos
Of those who but yesterday,
Were part of our pomp and pageantry,
Shall we then believe
The truth of the five cowries
On the diviners mat?
Will the panic rush of the vestal Virgins
From the sacred streams,
Defiled by strangers who know nothing
Of our land and its sacred laws..
Shall their anguish ...