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Friday, 13 October 2017

We Are

We are born with skin.
Defined by our skin.
Confined by our skin.
Awarded for our skin.
Disgraced for our skin.
Pitied for our skin.

Saturday, 7 October 2017

A Plea For Mercy by Kwesi Brew


We have come to your shrine to worship
We the sons of the land
The naked cowherd has brought
The cows safely home,
And stands silent with his bamboo flute
Wiping the rain from his brow;
As the birds brood in their nests
Awaiting the dawn with unsung melodies
The shadows crowd on the shore
Pressing their lips against the bosom of the sea;
The peasants home from their labours
Sit by their log-fires
Telling tales of long-ago.
Why should we the sons of the land
Plead unheeded before your shrine?
When our hearts are full of song
And our lips tremble with sadness?
The little firefly vies with the star,
The log-fire with the sun
The water in the calabash
With the mighty Volta,
But we have come in tattered penury
Begging at the door of a Master.
   

                         Literary Analysis(Summary)

The struggle for independence has never been easy. Many African countries triumphed through trials and thorns, blood and brothers to gain their freedom. Ghanaian born writer, Kwesi Brew, makes this the theme of his poem,"A plea for Mercy". In 1968, Kwesi Brew published his first collection titled "The Shadows of Laughter" which is divided into five thematic structures including"A plea for Mercy".

Sunday, 1 October 2017

Freetown by Syl Cheney-Coker

Africa I have long been away from you
wandering like a Fulani cow
but every night
amidst the horrors of highway deaths
and the menace of neon-eyed gods
I feel the warmth of your arms
centrifugal mother reaching out to your sons
we with our different designs innumerable facets
but all calling you mother womb of the earth
liking your image but hating our differences
because we have become the shame of your race
and now on this third anniversary of my flight
my heart becomes a citadel of disgust
and I am unable to write the poem of your life

my creation haunts me behind the mythical dream
my river dammed by the poisonous weeds in its bed
and I think of my brothers with “black skin and white masks “
(I myself am one heh heh heh)
my sisters who plaster their skins with white cosmetics
to look whiter than the snows of Europe
but listen to the sufferings of our hearts