This is a Ghana poem, I leave to you. Let the British Airways take me somewhere beautiful you’ve never experienced country love like this before, take you somewhere exotic, where it’s hot, nice and friendly. Nor the grounds, trendy Nikes could soak up the dusty roads and asked for a runner up. Experience the sun on your back 29 degrees burns like Mercury was giving you a 1500 metre workout. Fly me on vulture wings somewhere you’ve never flown before, singing the cloud songs, soaring musical flights of soundclouds in the air. Let the humidity hit you sideways on dry grounds talking international tongues, like I came from diverse cultures. Open arms in Akwaaba amongst Black people, Akwaaba means welcome, humble as pie. Sharing you the slice of that mmm mmm mmm, African goodness. Tears runs down my cheek like the river Nile. I’m talking about dear Ghana my friends, the Gold Coast of riches. Ghana my country, Ghana my culture, my 2nd home from Britain.
The land of independence has me missed from an international call in the distance, away in the London City, flashing lights beeming my sights, only blinded my true identity behind Piccadilly Circus. Back home, they are chanting, chanting, chanting ever so gracefully. Memories of my relatives all rush with hugs and kisses, Native tongues in Twi, Ga, Ewe, and Fante. No memory loss leaving visions blured, they remember who we are, Ghanaians in Britain, happy in God’s eyes they can feel us in his presence. Ghana is good like life in existence in a lot of ways. To be able to greet one another, look out for one another like family. We are the Black Star of our nation, the integrity of our culture, the moral standards run through us like shock waves from the pylons. We are the traditional values with Ghana flags waved around its national anthem theme song on Flag Day, singing....
God bless our homeland Ghana,And make our nation great and strong,Bold to defend foreverThe cause of Freedom and of Right.Fill our hearts with true humilityMake us cherish fearless honesty,And help us to resist oppressors' rule With all our will and might evermore.
Young boys gotta eat too in lower class communities. Young hustlers on the road selling Tampico, plantain chips, sweets only made to rot your teeth. But it’s sweets like this I wanna crave Ghana’s fruits and its juices quenching thirst for health. I wanna crave its African beauty of life in poverty but embrace hearts of the people, I wanna crave for the soils made to inspire, make me belong on grounds that pave my presence to lead like Kwame Nkrumah. Landscapes of mothers washing young infants in round bowls under the sun. Portraits of Women carrying bowls of yams and coconuts on their turbans. Miss the good old days when it was us and the relatives driving long road trips to Takoradi, where drinking spots are cool like Fanta and 7Up. Kumasi where we got robbed, Akcosumbo the cruise of a lifetime, the educational institute…University of Ghana. We are everything God has made us brown as clay, coca beans smothered in chocolate Nutella. We are everything the fields in green roots would nurture the rocky roads feeling bumpy, giving us the stumbles, the trips falling flat on our faces.
The brown dust is just a blur of our Region, driver command these car wipers to clear the visions of the heritage, my ancestors Ashantis raise your symbols in Adinkra, Kente Cloths. God save us from malaria and the sickly, change is coming from a thousand years journey to fix corruptions of the country, uplift community from the muddy grounds left stuck in the mud. Obama inspire Ghanaians to lift themselves from settlement on potato couches, and make this country stand up. How can we forget the Independence Day we fought for on March the 4th, 1957. The victory tastes great with Fufu, Jelloff Rice, kebabs and a couple of chicken drum sticks. The Hip Life music make the world dance in rhythms of mixed rap and reggae vibes, African beats makes the world party hard like a raver. As the Accra Region hear our calls, as the Ashanti Region hear our prayers, as the Northern Region hear our cries.
Like a Ghanaian reunion we are one with the Red Blood of our fallen soldiers fighting for the independence that gives Africa its backbone. We are the Golden jewels brighter like honey bees make like a pound sterling, like the 9th carat gold you wear around your lonesome neck. We are the Green crops, feeding the nation’s starving tummies, helping the country growth in economy crisis, educational schools and the computers left disconnected from the world’s source of discovery. The Black Lone Star of African freedom, the freedom to shine in with the Most High, reaching for Saturn’s rings. We are the hundred psalms that sings in orbit no slavery ship can uphold our spirits like doves in cages. Do you know why this caged bird sings? This bird sings, to break hold of these golden bars with the mighty fist of Black Power, no longer a slave on those ships, sailing our souls overseas, to be something we're not. Even though the backgrounds of our Diaspora is left unsaid by the Western Culture Media. I still run chocolate skin deep of the African nation’s coca beans, fresh and original. Yes being Black is beautiful like Motherland’s precious conitnent. Yes coming from Ghana is extraordinaire, the roots run through my virgin blood. For you see, your home is my home, your people are my people, the Gold Coast is our treasure. This is a Ghana poem I leave to you brethrens. It is my pleasure from the heart to pledge allegiance the three stripes of the Red, the Gold, the Green, and the Lone Star….Black.
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