Our grievances we rightly nurse
like an orphan we cower in grudge
our relegated uniqueness is number 9
amenities come only after priorities
for we are seen only as a trust at Berlin
to atone the Fuhrer’s failed blitzkrieg
but allow not these old wounds to fester
the Volta tides must abate for posterity
to uphold the ideals of Pan-Africanism
that took roots in this great nucleus coast
rather let these tides fan our crying hearts
and ebb all secessionist flow into the sea
where the Volta kiss the Atlantic ocean
to hide the Fuhrer’s submarines in depths.
Written by
Dela Bobobee©
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
where there ebbs.. it must also flow.. and this does.... with high Voltage... but why am I tinking Congo and King Leopold? aroha