Posts Tagged ‘satire’

SLAVE OF SOCIETY

Posted: September 10, 2017 in THE NEGRO
Tags: , , , , , , ,

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The birth of a child,
Eyes of the onlookers decides its fate
Predicted for greatness if a male.
With pride he is circumcised,
As fathers hit their chests like drums
My birth drew only nods of congratulations,
Not the usual pat on the back,
That calls for merry throughout the night to bid welcome.
From the moment the Oracle declared me a girl,
My fate was designed into an asanka.

Declared unfit to step where men left a print,
I watch the hopes of many girls fade.
Society was always quick to remind me of my place;
“You are a girl” as if it was a curse
Yet they pray to Asaase Yaa
To grant them prosperity.
When they treat me like I have no integrity.
Seeking to always see my knees kissing the earth,
For that is “my place”
As they say.

Insolent the call me, when I ask “why”
Inquisitive they brand me when I inquire “how”
As they realize “what” I can become, they declare me a threat.
Clothing me in the garment of extreme feminism.
The reward I get for a genuine criticism.
Is this the heaven I was promised,
As I ruled in my mother’s womb?
Why deliver me in the jaws of inequality?
Is it that I came with so much sin?
Or society is too sinful to accept my pureness?

Deep within I sense fear in the eyes of society,
It’s heart skips a beat as I still walk on
In this societal bondage.
You a quick to remind me that I’m weak.
In your bid to cover your tracks of insecurity
I smile at what good exudes from my being,
Though you interpret it as a roar.
I seek no vengeance, not on men or society
But I must be fed with the same spoon that feeds the “lords”
The respect of time, results in patience
It is time, my time as a Woman.

#THMpoetry ©2017

NOTE
ASANKA : A traditional bowl made from clay used for cooking in Ghana .

ASAASE YAA : Name of the earth goddess known mostly in the Akan Ethnic groups in Ghana.

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He that treats his herbs with contempt,
Eyes the beautiful African woman with disgust.
Yet scraps his torn pocket for white capsules
Sits for hours to watch a white lie in the glass,
Only to spit a wad of cola at the sound of Atumpan.

“I hate African leaders”
The anthem he so proudly sings
Yet lives like the mouse in his own house.
Preaches the gospel of white supremacy ,
To the glory of the white heaven.

He that looks to the setting sun
Cursing the very day of his naming
Like he came from the womb of a western goddess.
Making me as myself,
Did he suck a white breast ?

Chastising the scent of dear apapransa
Only to salivate over an imaginary pizza
But leaves no trace of kenkey in seconds.
He that knows not the route to his native airport,
Yet prides himself with the history of JFK

Self acclaimed political analyst,
The icon of pure family mismanagement.
So proud to endorse BBC and DW
Yet fails to use the thump to validate
his critique.
The general of matured incompetence.

Wishing to be treated like a king
Though have achieved nothing.
With a belly like a decorated pumpkin
You deserve nothing but flogging
Dear Honorable Black Racist.

NOTE:
I AM NOT A RACIST,  HAVE NEVER BEEN OR WILL EVER BE.
I APPRECIATE THE WORKS OF EACH RACE AND ADMIRE THEM FOR WHAT THEY STAND FOR.

BUT I HATE AFRICANS WHO SPEND THEIR LIVES LIKE A NAGGING WIFE BUT FAIL TO MAKE AN IMPACT IN THEIR OWN SMALL WAY.

IT TAKES ALL IF US TO MAKE AFRICA THE HEAVEN WE WISH IT TO BE,
IF ONLY WE GET OFF OUR BLACK BUTS AND WORK IT OUT TILL WE SEE SUCCESS SMILING AT US BECAUSE WE DESERVED IT.

#THMpoetry © 2017

ODE OF HEROES

Posted: August 1, 2015 in HARD NUTS
Tags: , , ,

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Callously and clumsily we jump on each other
Feeding on the troubles of one another.
Taking pride in the disgrace of another
From the painful tears of another, we feed
Thinking not of our troubles but of the grunts and groans of another.
Do we not tire from our “selfless selfishness”?

With steel hard rods between our legs
As we droll over maidens.
As though our pockets are full
I tell you what;
They are full of envy and bloody jealousy.
The symbol of a “true man”.

We learned of “dame” ;
Game of the wise
Now our domain
For its a game of drunkards.
The mighty )ware; Game of the lazy.
Our lips waits the greetings of the calabash

Arguing from dawn to dusk
As though we were on Talking
Point.
I guess we would make great pundits
Splattering saliva all about
With hopes of licking up our woman’s soup.
We leave tomorrow to itself

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