…and Osagyefo is Headless!

I am the traveller on this historic time and land, bubbling with enthusiasm of meeting one of the great Pan-Africanists

—a vision that was probably buried before it was birth—

hoping to draw fresh inspiration in human vanity, for I would not be P.B. Shelley to despair our rulers’ collective futility,

as they assume transcendental essence in search of vain glory,

taking titles as the Saviour of our races and tribes…

And, over there, on that same similar stretch of empty land, stands a headless vast Nkrumah, cast in bronze to endure,

but he has lost many things, for he could not bear the attack of the invading hopeless and empty vandals, who chopped off a portion of his leg by irrational force,

and hacked off one of the Saviour, Osagyefo’s hands…

And on the pedestal where the severed head is mounted, appear these words:

“The bronze head of Dr. Kwame Nkrumah’s original Statue which stood in front of the old parliament house, Accra, vandalized during the February 24, 1966 Military and Police Coup D’etat …”

I take note as one of the Preacher’s Students

as I remember ‘Ozymandias, King of Kings’

I look back at the works of Nkrumah, and despair like the Preacher!

What really remain is our colossal wreck of history of nothingness, this contradiction of the present success of failures,

plaguing this vast land called Africa,

standing, here and there, in high places of leadership like Osagyefo’s vast trunk of bronze, headless, yet trying to recite P.B. Selley’s Poem,

‘My name is’ not, and cannot be ‘Ozymandias’

even though I share his history …

why don’t you just look upon me as a mere headless SAVIOUR…?

University of Ghana, Legon, Accra.

Comments

Painful letters By: Marvee

Every time I feel this way This terrifying kind of pain These twitchy palms and muffled sobs These weakened sights and mindless slob I would think of something To put me at ease, anything At times, to leave my world And be someone else, not a dud Often times I would write on plain sheet Write till my limbs felt weak Write till the page is covered in ink Write till the painful times shift. ©-Marvee

The So Called Queen By:Salawu Olubunmi

_The so called queen of the zanger A woman of misery and deceptive appearance Wags tongue in a swordlike How angelic she be when seeking the honey frm it's comb With her romantic but deceitful display The first sight of her left me in dismay First encounter with her was heartrending Such a sweet poison A devil in disguise wit an angelic face The so called queen can neither be embraced nor avoided.

THE GCE GIRL By: OLUSEGUN AKINSANYA

Every year we welcome into our community several teenagers between 13 and 17 from far and near. They are both male and female. They have the same mission. They have come to write General Certificate Examination (G.C.E). Most of them are penultimate students in secondary schools. These little fellows have been fixed at centres nearby to write their exams and the people that brought them have accommodation as part of the payment agreement. Some of these children are leaving home for the first time. Some of them look like mom's pets. Immediately they hit the town, you see a lot of ambiance and noise, something like a carnival. They make noise in the morning while looking for water for domestic use and in the evening when they are back from their different centres. It's always a new experience for most of them, and they seem to enjoy it: yea, they seem to enjoy being away from home for a whole month, a kind of escape from the eagle eyes of their parents; they seem to enjoy a t...

OLUWAJIMI . J . THORPE

Search This Blog