The gods are Arrogant - A Poem
The gods are Arrogant - A Poem.
Odomankoma, from whose lineage I am a grandchild,
The chosen one who must become the mysterious evening tide,
To put ashes on spots of the forsaken garden
For easier identification to be fired off as a relieve pill to the heavy laden.
The gods under whose care you left us, oh! AmadiOha, are now so arrogant.
They turn deaf ears to our collective plight and, to our wails and woes have become too adamant.
They have left us under the mercies of the storm of hail,
And like to a notorious thief, on our bald heads they have pierced a nail.
Asase Yaa, the deities you put on guard over our lives say they can no longer live under the caves,
And they strike us with pestilence and flying rolls when we caution them on how they lately do behave.
Just the other day I heard from our village gong beater,
About how they struck the heels of a man and told him they weren't his meeter.
The deities we carried under our shed with our own power and might,
To be on guard of our souls against turbulences when we sleep and snore at night,
Have now grown horns like those of a wounded buffalo,
Roaring, soaring and hoarding our cowries we entrusted in their care, heaping them away with mental spades while we, under poverty and lack, do wallow.
Could it be, ignorant forgetfulness, or shear pride?
That they don't realize they have no hinds but ours, no hands but ours and no means of movement unless on our backs to ride?
Come down and see, Thou everlasting supreme being,
How arrogant, and with unrepentant pride they do bloat their egos and fuss about buying us with our own cowries we entrusted to them like
an agama lizard whose belly is full of nothing but rotten beans.
Arise Adomankoma,
Arise Asase Yaa,
arise
AmadiOha, do arise, and hearken unto me,
Your grandchild,
The cottage resident,
The phenomenal poet,
Mbilla Gladys Alasid,
Calling on you to rise for a drink.
Alasid.mbilla@gmail.com
+233556491371
Odomankoma, from whose lineage I am a grandchild,
The chosen one who must become the mysterious evening tide,
To put ashes on spots of the forsaken garden
For easier identification to be fired off as a relieve pill to the heavy laden.
The gods under whose care you left us, oh! AmadiOha, are now so arrogant.
They turn deaf ears to our collective plight and, to our wails and woes have become too adamant.
They have left us under the mercies of the storm of hail,
And like to a notorious thief, on our bald heads they have pierced a nail.
Asase Yaa, the deities you put on guard over our lives say they can no longer live under the caves,
And they strike us with pestilence and flying rolls when we caution them on how they lately do behave.
Just the other day I heard from our village gong beater,
About how they struck the heels of a man and told him they weren't his meeter.
The deities we carried under our shed with our own power and might,
To be on guard of our souls against turbulences when we sleep and snore at night,
Have now grown horns like those of a wounded buffalo,
Roaring, soaring and hoarding our cowries we entrusted in their care, heaping them away with mental spades while we, under poverty and lack, do wallow.
Could it be, ignorant forgetfulness, or shear pride?
That they don't realize they have no hinds but ours, no hands but ours and no means of movement unless on our backs to ride?
Come down and see, Thou everlasting supreme being,
How arrogant, and with unrepentant pride they do bloat their egos and fuss about buying us with our own cowries we entrusted to them like
an agama lizard whose belly is full of nothing but rotten beans.
Arise Adomankoma,
Arise Asase Yaa,
arise
AmadiOha, do arise, and hearken unto me,
Your grandchild,
The cottage resident,
The phenomenal poet,
Mbilla Gladys Alasid,
Calling on you to rise for a drink.
Alasid.mbilla@gmail.com
+233556491371
Great write up, keep up
ReplyDeleteYour poems are so good
ReplyDelete