Skip to main content

SONG OF SORROW By: Koffi Awoonor



Dzogbese Lisa has treated me thus

It has led me among the sharps of the forest

Returning is not possible

And going forward is a great difficulty

The affairs of this world are like the chameleon faeces

Into which I have stepped

When I clean it cannot go.



I am on the world's extreme corner,

I am not sitting in the row with the eminent

But those who are lucky

Sit in the middle and forget

I am on the world's extreme corner

I can only go beyond and forget.



My people, I have been somewhere

If I turn here, the rain beats me

If I turn there the sun burns me

The firewood of this world

Is for only those who can take heart

That is why not all can gather it.

The world is not good for anybody

But you are so happy with your fate;

Alas! the travelers are back

All covered with debt.



Something has happened to me

The things so great that I cannot weep;

I have no sons to fire the gun when I die

And no daughter to wail when I close my mouth

I have wandered on the wilderness

The great wilderness men call life

The rain has beaten me,

And the sharp stumps cut as keen as knives

I shall go beyond and rest.

I have no kin and no brother,

Death has made war upon our house;



And Kpeti's great household is no more,

Only the broken fence stands;

And those who dared not look in his face

Have come out as men.

How well their pride is with them.

Let those gone before take note

They have treated their offspring badly.

What is the wailing for?

Somebody is dead. Agosu himself

Alas! a snake has bitten me

My right arm is broken,

And the tree on which I lean is fallen.



Agosi if you go tell them,

Tell Nyidevu, Kpeti, and Kove

That they have done us evil;

Tell them their house is falling

And the trees in the fence

Have been eaten by termites;

That the martels curse them.

Ask them why they idle there

While we suffer, and eat sand.

And the crow and the vulture

Hover always above our broken fences

And strangers walk over our portion.

Artwork by; Mander Marathe fine art

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

DREAMS OF A perfect FAMILY VANDALISED BY A FAKE IFA PRIEST

Who is man to God? Who is God to man How much distance do our prayers cover by land? In relation to our circumstances and time What does man think of what he sees? And what does God see of what man thinks Emmanuel; God with us But Immanuel on Alakija Street is having spiritual blurred visions On a trip to the priest to inquire of what the future holds, Inheriting gold and paying exceedingly half its worth to verify if it’s gold The tales of Alamu the one with the gift of palmistry Brothers killed brothers, Because the other has been identified to be, The one who will inherit the gift of the fathers, Which of my kids shall be successful? Answers of which the priest shall deliver A gift of wine, a gift of hen, The fake priest gets fatter, Worshipers of the deity that sip champagne and eat gizzards Whilst living off the believers hazard Your mother is a witch Your sister is the glitch Until your siblings die your lineage shall not succeed, These priests we...

MAY YOUR ROAD BE ROUGH By Tai Solarin, Jan. 1, 1964

I am not cursing you; I am wishing you what I wish myself every year. I therefore repeat, may you have a hard time this year, may there be plenty of troubles for you this year! If you are not so sure what you should say back, why not just say, ‘Same to you’? I ask for no more. Our successes are conditioned by the amount of risk we are ready to take. Earlier on today I visited a local farmer about three miles from where I live. He could not have been more than fifty-five, but he said he was already too old to farm vigorously. He still suffered, he said, from the physical energy he displayed as a farmer in his younger days. Around his hut were two pepper bushes. There were kokoyams growing round him. There were snail shells which had given him meat. There must have been more around the banana trees I saw. He hardly ever went to town to buy things. He was self-sufficient.  The car or the bus, the television or the telephone, the newspaper, Vietnam or Red China were nothing to ...

TAPOTI By: Mao Zedong

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, indigo: Who is dancing with these rainbow colours in the sky? Air after rain, slanting sun: mountains and passes turning blue in each changing moment. Fierce battles that year: bullet holes in village walls. These mountains so decorated, look even more beautiful today. Artwork via: Forbes