THE STREET LIFE

We are black naggers On the street full of beggars Life is hard, making most of us waggers Don’t forget most of us are twiggers So we hit the street, so our babies will feed A day sick, the household bleeds So we struggle with all kinds of breeds A few noble ones, the rest full of greed. At sunset, we rush home with our little vittle Though not enough, it's quite a mantle We would watch our babies guttle A sight that sometimes makes us tootle. We do this so our children won’t end up as street urchins Though sometimes we wished to be consumed in our sleep by griffins, Click here We will never give up, even in our pains For our children see us as paladins. By: Isaac Cobbinah Songs of Hope - Ink of De_Governor ✍🏿️ Melodies of the Heart
22

TOMORROW I WILL LEAVE

 


(The Survival Journey)

“Nana, Don’t go” – words Mom kept repeating as I explained my journey.

 

I need to go, Yes, I need to go

To a distant land

I will leave tomorrow and go sink deep

In the lands of other worlds

Filled with strange faces and unfamiliar language

I will leave with the first bus

I have stuffed my little faded clothes

In my little Ghana-Must-Go bag.

 

Tomorrow I will leave this place

And its troubles behind

I’ve watched Dad sank deep into the soil,

Two siblings melted back into the sand that formed them,

I’ve witnessed the family legacy (cocoa farm) caught in unquenchable flames

Years of relentless efforts to revive it saw no fruitful yield.

 

With tears;

I saw it being sold to a neighbor we know not

Only for the money meant to secure my education to the highest level stolen in weeks times,

When our dilapidated house was ransacked.

 

We wailed till our voices ceased

The once enviable family is left with two survivors

And with nothing to begin life anew,

So I will leave tomorrow.

 

I haven’t gotten the chance to bid familiar faces and friends goodbye,

But I will leave tomorrow.

 

There will be no return

Oh and why should I return?

The families we supported accused us of money rituals,

The soil that provided us with bountiful harvest now swallows our seeds like hen does maize

Yes, I will miss the stream, 

I will miss the sight of the village beautiful maidens with their water pot balancing on their heads 

I will miss the fond memories,

Yes, I will miss Mom, 

But there will be no return.

 

There will be no goodbyes 

For I will disappear from this miserable land that deserted me,

When the ghosts are all asleep

And Mom snores in pitiable state.

 

I will disappear to the city of hope

To fight and become who I want to be

I will go hard or die

If I succeed, I will return to Mom

If the unmentionable happens, do not cry

For I told you,

Tomorrow I will leave.


Click here to read part 2

By: Isaac Cobbinah

Songs of Hope

-Ink of De_Governor ✍🏿

Melodies of the Heart








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