I Know Why Cliff Cries On Sundays
Friday
This day likes singing
"TGIF-Thank God Is Friday"
He never thanks God
He goes chasing the bottles
Stays up soo late
that immorality can take over
He drinks
intoxicated
makes merry
fights
Looks into the sky
and "I thank God is Friday"
The alcohol will sing him a lullaby
and lull him to a slumber
Saturday
Morning never waits for him
Wakes up to greet the afternoon
And he can shift all his blames to Friday
Before he could say its all my fault
Another call will hello his phone
and is another invitation to the club
Saturday brings its own,worse than Friday
Then an Angel thrown down on earth
will gently tease,"You got church tomorrow"
Cliff sleeps with a mind for church tomorrow
Again the alcohol is a good cradle-singer
Sunday
He weeps,
He cries
Why me, why this,
why couldn't I wake up for church
Forgive me oh God.
OUR BROTHERS
This is how they help us
They cut off the breast
of nursing mothers
so they cannot feed their own babies
And laugh beastly whiles it dies in her palms
This is what they teach us
They give our fathers guns
show them who is fellow hunter and who is the game
so they can kill we the animals
and laugh brutally whiles they smoke the bodies
This what they do
They send their own white doctors
to build missionaries and give first aid
so that blacks will know Angels are only whites
And the devil lives in only blacks
This is how they save us
They send their soldiers to rescue
Whiles they order blacks to get busy killing their own
So the black will see the whites as saviours
With heavy machine guns
they kill our fathers whom they turned into beasts
And save the few survivals
Leaving the land in the hands of the bleeding aged and children
Provide them UN cups of rice, pair of trousers and tooth paste and brush
In exchange of the land.
Our brothers really make Life is so sweet that we can't stop eating and think.
Written By: Oppong Clifford Benjamin.
Inspired By: the wars and seasonal killings in some parts of Africa. Where the conception of the ideas are made in the west and infused into the heads of some blacks to cause wars and capture strong men to kill their owns. So our brothers from the west can steal our lands from polluted minds.
Wells of Our Fathers
Holes dug with beak of loves
Papa worked hands of no gloves
Rain and sun were no weather
Days and nights were all days
Papa worked with his self
digging this well of his blood
a water of blood to quench our future
Earth to Sky, was no tall a tree
Papa climbed and stole the sun
erased the rainbow
collected the stars from the skies
and slapped the clouds
all to force down rains
to satisfy these wells
Papa was brutalized
he was whipped by rods of tomorrow
he could cry out his sorrow
but he smiled for more lashes
all to make this future bright and flashy
To the depth of this well
he measured not
all he wanted was a well
dug, dug and dug till he got lost in earth
Where would we have been
if Papa was you or me?
what would we have eaten
if Papa had education and also wore suits?
What would have been our names
if Papa had swallowed western culture?
Today we carrying on our lazy heads
buckets and pans of empty stomachs
fetching and drinking
red wines from the wells of our fathers
ignorant we are
that we drinking the blood of our fathers
from their own wells.
Written By: Oppong Clifford Benjamin
The Earth is Pregnant
Your wisdom espoused the Earth and the spirits
Chief ghosts of our ancestors
Why thy fishes thirst in travelling rivers
Why Ankobra and Bosomtwe quench not our dry throats
We disgruntled tongues,send down drops to make us ocean
Your daughter,Asase Ya, blessed woman of fertility
Now adopts our kids into her belly of sterility
Nyankopon, the groom of eternity
Order thy wife, Asase Yaa
to sow sperm seeds in our soils
When August, sex us with the rains
making thy Earth pregnant again.
We can birth, the war victims,
Reclaim our lost future from the Emotia
Sing in the voice of Osibisa
and dance to the rhythm of the Fontomfrom
So we can see the Africa that sits in the eyes of Osagyefo
Osagyefo, the weeping ghost
Cry no longer,when the Earth delivers
We shall borrow your eye balls, wake up from the African Dream.
Oh Ori!
Why deprive your children
of their Kadara and Ayanmo
Making this our destiny shy
He who has power over Orunmila
Cease this our plight of;
Lands fighting lands
Hands raised against hands
Streams arguing Rivers
Receivers commanding Givers
Bushes measuring height with Forests
Wars stealing souls, leaving hunger for the rest
Ola, kid of the Earth,Sits on the seat of death
Clothed in small pox and measles
Ah!! Sapona, to you we sing our own dirge
that ye may have mercy.
The Earth walks with protruded belly away
fraught with victims of the plague,that stole our honour.
Obatala , creator of humans,light and purity
Why ye slumber, wake up
And Speak to the Earth
That she will end drinking blood and born our lost brethren
Mandiba crying for the spirit of Ubudu
Soyinka mourning the soul of Awoonor
Have we failed to satisfy ye, gods of Africa?
Or need we pour down our bloods for Libation?
NO!!!,by the powers of Ori, I command
Yemaja, plant children in the womb of the Earth
Ogun, retire and make way for Peace.
Ayao breathe onto the lands, the Africa of our Ancestors
Kabezya-Mpungu, father of four;
Sun,Moon,Darkness and Rain
Why your Children to us curse?
Sun,bleaching our colour black
making us white and westerned
Moon,no longer works at night
Providing shade for evil transactions
Darkness,bribed to always prevail over day
That we may not see to distinguish brother from enemy
Rain, visits all time and all day
Depriving us of our homes and properties
WHY!!! Kabezya-Mpungu
We the children of Kikuyu
cry unto thee, Let order dominate
That thy children will sow into Earth crops.
Crops that bear fruits of the Africa of our tomorrow.
Unkulunkulu,on your shoulders
We rest our burdens
Deliver our Pregnant Earth.
Based onAfrica Mythology
Ghana
Odomankoma-creator of the universe
Ankobra- a respectable River
Bosomtwe- largest man-made lake in west Africa, Ashanti kingdom of Ghana
Asase Ya- Mother Earth
Nyankopon- God, believed to be husband to the Earth
Emotia- Dwarfs,spirit humans in the sacred forests
Fontomfrom-a big ancestral drum in the Akans clan
Osibisa- very popular music band from Ghana, that travelled across the globe inthe 1980’s
Osagyefo- a title for Dr.Kwame Nkrumah, means the Redeemer.
Nigeria
Ori- god of the universe, who destines all humans
Kadar- destiny
Ayanma- destiny
Orunmila-god of the destiny of man
Sapona- goddess of small pox
Obatala- creator of human bodies, purity and light
Yemaja- goddess for fertility and women
Ogun- god of iron and war
Ayao- god of air
Uganda
kabezya- Mpungu – god of creation
Kenya
Kikuyu- god of creation and crops
SouthAfrica.
Unkulunkulu - God
THE AFRICAN DREAM
6 July 2013 at 00:03
A future seen in dreamsFlowing like a stream
From person to persons
Years down,dream worsens
Africa had a dream
Glowing like light beams
Builders worked in Teams
Bonded together like seams
Then
Mr. White sets in
So tall and thin
That night,slept in our inns
Good morning,greets with grins
Behind 'smiles',a package of sins
Bought lands with mirrors
Introduced religion with errors
Opened a factory of confusion
manufactured delusions
Sold at no cost
to Africans, for their cause
Years after induction of greed
Slavery, our kings agreed
Potential dream builders
Were captured and sold to be soldiers
In a military of perpetual savage
Men and women, no respect for age
They were Labelled like commodities
Yaa Akya,now Felicity
Papa Adjei, now Johnny
Opanyin Sumpa,now Bonny
Dadae Zoe,now Julie
Cheaper than the mower
but more efficient than the sower
Cheaper than the broom
but clears the rooms
Priceless creatures of God
sold cheaply by whips of rod
Long History has been summarized
is now too faded to memorize
By Sons and daughters of Africa
who Schooled in the America
A Dead Dream
Now risen in full strength beam
Dreamers are so young and unified
One name to them identify
BUILDERS OF THE AFRICAN DREAM.https://www.facebook.com/BuildersofAfricaDream
Written By: Oppong Clifford Benjamin
VOX POPULI, VOX DEI
"I wonYou lost
You cheated
The election was rigged''
They charged our peaceful atmosphere with nonsensicalities
To adjudicate, let's go to the church of doom
To excogitate harsh answers
From the westerner's Bible of discombobulating
"Forget about the People
They never will know the secrecy of our drama
Death or Life, we remain their gods"
They say and laugh, in their lodges of atrocity
The people weep in pains
They see pregnancy of cataclysm
In the pot bellies of Politicians
Disquieted voices of the Land
Innocent mothers and children
Sing requiems in memorial of their coming death
Whilst hoping and praying for a Life
From the verdict of the Court
When two elephants fight
It’s the ground that suffers the pain
When two power seekers lock horns
It’s my mother and siblings that become refugees
The soil of peace that grew Ghana
Now gleans egocentric and avaricious beasts
The land cries blood as it loses grip of its peace
The people bleed in fear
Pastors prophesying doom
Seated I here, talking to the ceiling
Where will I run to, when its finally here
Nigeria or South Africa
Uganda or Liberia
Where will I stop to quench my thirst?
And where will I stop to earn the honorary title of a refugee?
But the voice of the People is the Voice of God
Amen!
Written by: Oppong Clifford Benjamin
MY LAME FRIEND ON THE STREET
Today I saw you in suitWanted to say you look cute
But you were in an air conditioned car
Yet, I still could see your pain-scar
Today, you had no helping boy
And so was filled with joy
Valued added beggar
This afternoon you eat burger
Destiny change-over
Drives in range rover
Gives lift to the market women
A good life omen.
Minutes after, narrated your story
In no laughter, passengers said, ‘Oh glory’
I said, Oh yes it was you
some years ago in your youth
Crawling on your butts
Making money by beggary but
You had a bachelor's degree
Asked of my help and I agreed
Wonder questions, how you did this?
How you leave the street?
When did you buy a car?
How are you driving?
What job are you doing?
Don't know when to get answers
I only know your old house, the street
Nature shall bring us back
My old old lame friend
Glory be to God.
Written By: Oppong Clifford Benjamin
#WRRPoetry
*Dedicated to a lame friend I had in 2009 on the Tetteh Quarshie Interchange ( #Ghana).
Once I was waiting for trotro (public transport) and I took the chance to talk with him (he was a beggar then), he had a degree in Commerce from the university of Cape coast but no job for him because of his disability.
He told me to try and help him get a job and if I got one for him, I should look for him on the street where he begged.
Recently in a steady traffic flow, I could see him clearly driving in a Range Rover.I was filled with tears of joy and shared his story with fellow passengers in the car. Glory be to God.
1 Africa Ago
Africa had dreams
Glowing like light beams
Builders work at it, in Team
Bonded together like seams
Then, Mr. White sets in
He's so tall and thin
He Slept in our inns
His good morning, greeting came with grins.
He introduced his religion,garnished with error
Bought 'pacels of lands' with an inch mirror
He opened factories, equiped with confusion
and manufactured goods called delusions.
Glowing like light beams
Builders work at it, in Team
Bonded together like seams
Then, Mr. White sets in
He's so tall and thin
He Slept in our inns
His good morning, greeting came with grins.
He introduced his religion,garnished with error
Bought 'pacels of lands' with an inch mirror
He opened factories, equiped with confusion
and manufactured goods called delusions.
Sold at no cost, for their cause.
After induced greed, to slavery our kings agreed
Priceless creatures of God,sold cheaply by whips of rod
Potential dream builders, captured and sold to become soldiers
In a military of perpetual savage,young and old, no respect for age.
They were displayed as commodities
YaaAkya,labelled Felicity
PapaAdjei,labelled as Johnny
Kwame Dawe,now called Bonny
They
were cheaper than the mower but more efficient than sower Priceless creatures of God,sold cheaply by whips of rod
Potential dream builders, captured and sold to become soldiers
In a military of perpetual savage,young and old, no respect for age.
They were displayed as commodities
YaaAkya,labelled Felicity
PapaAdjei,labelled as Johnny
Kwame Dawe,now called Bonny
Cheaper than the brooms, used (by them) for clearing the rooms
Their long History has been summarized, too faded to be memorized
By Sons and daughters of Africa,who now build with stamina
A Dead Dream, (risen to full strength) once glowed like light beams.
MY SON, I LIED
My son, I lied
I am a liar
Death never made you fatherless
You are a four fathered son
All awake and working
You remember that story
Which I narrated in tears?
It was not a fiction
I was the character
I was only a girl
I was a virgin
With my last breath
Permit me to say
You are your family without me
You are your future without me
I am the victim of your make up
You are a product of my rape!
Death never made you fatherless
You are a four fathered son
All awake and working
You remember that story
Which I narrated in tears?
It was not a fiction
I was the character
I was only a girl
I was a virgin
With my last breath
Permit me to say
You are your family without me
You are your future without me
I am the victim of your make up
You are a product of my rape!
Written By: Oppong Clifford Benjamin
People say we look alike
Let the sky fall and crumble
We remain in the rumble
In the teeth of death, we won't grumble
Come flying arrows, no tumble
Inebriated by despair, but we won't stumble
People say we look alike
Yesterday I fell,today I spike
But you mirror, why do you weep?
when you know tomorrow I reap
Why is your heart hollering in red pains?
Smile,the future holds our gains
I can see your bleeding eyes
Afflictive cries in sleepless nights
With determination,away your worry flies.
Haunted by the past
In your dreams,memories blast
Fear cooks clouds in your head
Rain drops of terror your nose shed
But Mirror,am here to you shine.
Brighten up,
I see Prof beneath your shame
I see a politician on top of the game
I see an engineer behind your chest
I see a writer and poet below your breast
Am happy, mirror you smiling
Are you me? or Am you?
soliloquy.
Wrtten By: Oppong Clifford Benjamin.
Fear cooks clouds in your head
Rain drops of terror your nose shed
But Mirror,am here to you shine.
Brighten up,
I see Prof beneath your shame
I see a politician on top of the game
I see an engineer behind your chest
I see a writer and poet below your breast
Am happy, mirror you smiling
Are you me? or Am you?
soliloquy.
Wrtten By: Oppong Clifford Benjamin.
Unassailable Faith
We remain in the rumble
In the teeth of death, we won't grumble
Come flying arrows, no tumble
Inebriated by despair, but we won't stumble
This Is My Home
The start of my beginning
and the ending of my end
An opened arm
ever ready to embrace my shames
ever ready to re-organize the loser me
This is my home
Not the house but the people
the ones who see the victory in me
in bankruptcy of hopes
In here, no hell, no heaven
No good no bad
Since no one is somebody
we are all nobody
This is my home
The only place where;
Mums insults are fun
Brother and sister quarrels are enjoyed
Dad's loured face is mimicked
This is my home
our dump site
trash out our anger
Bury our hatred
Empty our troubled hearts
This is my root.
my origin
my me.
Written By: Oppong Clifford Benjamin
'VIP' Bus Wahala
She counted trees,I numerated edifices
Our eyes only meet at the sound of one's breath
Heaven and Earth were riant audience
to our comic pantomine
The air conditioner couldn't bear the heat
I sang with zero lyrics
She head-danced to no beat
Perhaps,our own style of party
"Ahh Kweku Atta osei,son of the great Ashanti kingdom
Brewers of the wine that sobers women's brain
Where varnish my tongue to melt down a lady"
I soliloquised
Deep from the odum trees cometh my courage
"Excuse me lovely damsel", I broke the hundrum
Whitish teeth, dimples sank into smiles,eyes glaring like goddess
Her heartquake
like volcano ,arrived the response,
"Hellooo"
lkwsfknkmsklskmmslmsls.km
(don't even know what am writing, lost in her smile)
My Abandoned Hometown
Goats and sheep walked in solitude
The wind fed my mouth with dust
I chewed as I smiled
The silence on the road
grew as I walked past the graveyard
horripilations bathed me, am scared
Two hundred metres on foot
The only friends that greeted were goats and sheep
I knew I was home when I saw the two lotto kiosks
When the children walked in only pants
and the kids played raimentlessly
I visited Yaw Boadi's house
Response;he has gone to Kumasi for job
I visited Yaa's house
Response,she now stays in Accra
The youngest adult was Papa Kumi,34 years
The Football field was lost in forest
River Mansin had dried out of loneliness
The scorching sun had bleached the palace
Sitted under the enormous mango tree
Centurions,nonagenarians, octogenarians,......
rehearse their death
My village, why lose the youth
why you so
deserted
empty and rejected.
Written By: Oppong Clifford Benjamin
Inspired by the rather sad over view of my hometown, no one to call a young energetic man. All have run to the city in search of white collar jobs and I am sad am a victim by the actions of my parents.
"ROMANTIC NONSENSE"
Retracing our foot prints in measured steps
Gazing sun that crowns the acmes of coconut trees
Twinkly face smiling at tidal waves
With hands fastened behind my back
Reminiscing past romantic funtimes
Whiles ruing recent times
Mr.and Mrs. Sarpong just questioned me
Where is the woman?
Am searching for her in our honey moon shores
tracing our footprints
to know where I stepped wrongly
You never broke up with me
But you broke a virgin heart full of love
Written By: Oppong Clifford Benjamin
Love Is.....
15 July 2013 at 09:41
Love is Sweet;When I fall
For you to stand
When you cry
So I can laugh
When I have to go
To insure you stay
Love is sweeter
When you closed your eyes
And I- do the dreaming
When I weep
And you bear the pains
When you Smile
And I do the laughing
Love is the sweetest
When we both reach at same time
When we laugh at same time
when we achieve our dreams at same time
When we sit on top of the roof
And reflect on our past mistakes.
Written by: Oppong Clifford Benjamin
Church In Me
White songs, black hearts
on the altar of my heart,let’s pray
troubled hearts with thanksgiving
Your Church in me
Flow in me, let’s dance
Lames with stomping moves
my stomach, a bowl for offerings
Out of your sufferings,satisfy me
Give all out of your all
Your church in me
Sit in me, no questions just listen
An encyclopedia of wisdom
preached wealth creation
Salvation is individual business
the church growth is our business
baboons dey work, monkey dey chop
Pastor monkey for fat
Baboons for slim
Your Church in me
Stand in me, Let’s share the grace
For the health of dear pastor
A ticket to America, check up
For the comfort of his family
We donate this mansion
Hip! Hip!! Hip!!! Hurrayyy,
A birthday gift for pastor, limousine
Ameeennnn
Go in “peace” and pieces
The church is over.
Written by: Oppong Clifford Benjamin.
DIALOGUE WITH BEDMATE,THE SKY
So dark but brightening
Designs-stars and moon
Today we will sleep like loons
THE SKY: Thanks dear, Saw you during the day
Hauling distances with your drays
Saw you thirsty, so I cried down tears
Saw you burning, so I stopped the sun
STREET BOY: So caring of you
Wish you could cry down manna
Today,was no market day
No Woman to do me charity
Haunting across the backyards
Brought no left-overs
Tonight you sleep with an empty lover
THE SKY: That makes me sad
But joyful because
All these make you stronger
And prepared for the elevation ahead
A resident behind me,called God
Has promised to change your destiny
He said,grow up this way
But you will die on top of the world
STREET BOY: Tears in my eyes
Oh my dear sky,
Indeed beyond you is my limit
God, heard about that man
But only the clothed and elite meet him
In that magnificent structure,church
I was there last week Sunday
The Ushers mistook me for a mad boy
Perhaps because of my best outfit
Will be pronounced evil,if I go with my normal wear
He must be a wonderful man
Had thought of stealing cloths to meet him coming sunday
THE SKY: You don't need cloths
You don't need church
You don't need money
In fact he is your secret friend
He spoke with you yesterday
And he is speaking to you now.
Am his foot mat.
He is right here with us.
Tell him you love him, if you do
STREET BOY: Love you Mr. God
Please if you are here, then touch me
I need no huge amount of money
I need no elegant house
I need no degrees in school
I badly need love, parental love
THE SKY: Am getting wet
His tear drops are falling on me
He also loves you
He wants your future to be a miracle
Moved from worst to best
(street boy cuts in-why are frowning with clouds)
God weeps so bad,am soaked
I need to squeeze them on you
No,no,no, don't hide
His tears are blessings
It doesn't wet you
But soaks you with benedictions of tomorrow
Tomorrow you will:
Wake up employed
Wake up in suit
Wake up feeding the hungry
Wake up singing "IT IS WELL"
Wake up a role model
Let's sleep my dearie
Written by: Oppong Clifford Benjamin
Dedicated to: All the street children across Africa.
The street boy sleeps in tears of joy, hoping to see the destined tomorrow.
But tomorrow never comes, so each night he slept in perpetual expectancy of his promised tomorrow and like a storm, he woke up one day in an orphanage,received free education and now the dream comes true.
CALL ME A REFUGEE
An alarm to say wake up, is your turn
Woke up with a weeping heart
but hardened eyes
Children wailing from distances
Away from armed Fathers
The CNN reported 'grief'
Just don't describe the moment
Because no word can.
Mum sleeps in cold bed of blood
Wake up! Wake up!! Wake up!!!
The more I call her name
The further her spirit moves away
Paaaw, a loud gunshot
My younger brother has been shot
He is dying behind me
But in front of Dad
Beside Dad is the commander
I ululate for mercy
but my cry travelled 1m long
Stopped by a heavy slap
Caught glance with Mama Zolie
She said in tears, they are all dead
As if I didn't hear her
No longer news
Four Days of thirstiness
A vegetarian turned Vampire
Escape as a refugee
My first experience of earth
My first taste of home
'Freedom',such a strange word
Mummy,brothers come!!! and see
Here, Soldiers are peace makers
Call me a Refugee
that's the best name I ever enjoyed.
Written by: Oppong Clifford Benjamin
DAUGHTER OF AFRICA
In the midst of all she lived
Unknown to many where she suffered
Victim of bad governance and corrupt system
Solitary on the streets of struggle
Sees the African women boggle
Hungry stomachs filled with appetites
Appetency for freedom and involution
Hot drops of tears
Evaporated on hotter empty plates
Reaching her height, was a clamber
But she separates like a comber
Separation of women from hardship
With one mouth, one pair of legs, one pair of eyes
She talks, walks and sees for millions
In fact billions of voiceless,motionless and sightless women
Digging the sea and planting on the rocks
She harvests, cooks and cools the hotter plates
Impossible is the process
But certainty in her progress
For prosperity Africa ululates
Women salutes
Men congratulates
Keep executing the unfeasible
We love you.
Written By: Oppong Clifford Benjamin
Dedicated to Purple Gracious Foundation and Grace Mageka
A WOMAN FOR WOMEN
Foot prints, gentility
Voice so calm
respect born in palm
Baby face,advanced brain
Her pains, for women's gain
Struggle in unfamiliar country
Not for herself but her county
Love brewed in an African pot
Served so fresh and hot
To the women and children
In a land of female illiteracy
Chewed education but withno supremacy
Gathered the girls
Put on them chain of pearls
Burnt the war chains
Today,We face our own change
Crawling to personal wealth
Jet-running to save women health
Within her country of tears
Created a town of no fears
Paw paw, gunshots
Stand stand on your spots
She screams
We are women, empowered to be saviours not cowards.
Written By: Oppong Clifford Benjamin
Dedicated to: Dadae Z. Anderson ( Women Empowerment Activist in Liberia) in honour of our two hours bilateral conversation.
HEAVEN OR HELL
written on computers not books
No existing citizens
But billions denizens
By click,Ghana reaches Uganda
Blacks and whites,like the panda
No tribes, no racism
Elites,poor but no favouritism
Joy and sorrow,posted
Chats and meetings hosted
Nm,igtg,Lol,Lmao-language
Profiles,large rooms withno luggage
Facebook,a church and club
Room of intellects and pups
Morning prayers,afternoon activities
Greetings from different countries
Voices of "Angels on earth"
Roars against your birth
Works of the occults
To Mark Zuckerberg,an assault
Speakers of antichrist
Please leave us in our kryst
In comfort, we continue to hail
Whether heaven or hell.
Written by: Oppong Clifford Benjamin
Facebook is just an initiative of another young guy who had the dream of making money in the process of making the world a comfortable and easy one. Pay no mind to these hungry pastors who go about associating anything good to the devil all in an effort to fill their pockets. Facebook till death.
THE I'LL BE THERE FOUNDATION
They set the agenda
And took the cause
At no cost
To house and to clothe
Now they build a home on a plot
For the homeless
Speak for the voiceless
Somewhere in Kampala
They built a camp
And said, come
All ye distressful street children
No masters but brethren
If you stole foods
Now you will eat freely and sleep on foams
Somewhere in the heart of a boy
Lies a great love for the boys
Who is his friend?
The friendless and isolated child at the street corner
He grew around them
Now he lives to rescue them
I cry out for voices,hands and minds
To join his battle against street children
The war against Femine
Come ye all
Lets make the street for cars and not homes.
Written By: OPPONG CLIFFORD BENJAMIN
Dedicated to Kabagambe Moses and The I'll Be There Foundation.
0 comments:
Post a Comment