A Mine

Everything is tired
That is tired
It's what our bones have become
Eaten with might by termites
Nananom themselves warned
This end.
What we'll become
Togbui, Nii, all added a warning
They echoed our life; we said ours is new
They have seen: this thing that is new
They boomed a warning
Themselves.
Cassava-sticks-wrapped-doomed-to-earth
Ourselves.
That flesh.
Our bone a warning to our flesh

My Land was Dead

In the market, my land lay dead
It bitterly bled to death

We Bleed

One blood
Is what we all bleed
One broom
Is that which we should be
Our bane should not be our sispicion
Our truth pervades our ink, our minds;
Our gong, our proverb.

Africans must pay the African, restitution
To cleanse the African machete
Of crying blood.
For our unity has reticently slept here near
Awaiting a tap to rise.