Sagbadre Poem by Doris Dzameshie

In the shadow of Prinzenstein's grim walls,
Where the ocean's breath does faintly call,
Stood Sagbadre, with a sneer so wide,
Mocking the warriors with his pride.

'Who dares to challenge, who dares to fight,
The Anlo Ewe, in their plight?
For I am Sagbadre, the fort's own bane,
Drinking souls like the falling rain.'

1784, the year of dread,
Yet the Danish trembled, filled with lead.
For not a soul could they ensnare,
Against the Ewe, none could compare.

'Bring back my children, ' the land did weep,
'From Caribbean shores to Carolina's deep.
Let them rest, let peace be sown,
For Sagbadre sits on his stolen throne.'

With Akpeteshie in his grip so tight,
Sagbadre laughed at the Ewe's plight.
Strategic, resilient, they stood their ground,
While he, in his folly, was drunkenly bound.

He spoke with Kioge, his words a slur,
Plotting demise, a conqueror's purr.
Woe, Tegbi, Pottebra, all fell to ash,
As Sagbadre's actions were brash and rash.

The celestial armies, with fire in gaze,
Stood tall and mighty, their spirits ablaze.
They watched the east, for a sign to march,
While Sagbadre's reign grew evermore arch.

The earth it trembled, the staffs did pound,
As Anlo souls in ranks were found.
And Fort Prinzenstein, with its darkened past,
Bore witness to Sagbadre, the die was cast.