I AM A GA

In a cloud of laughter and cheers
An atmosphere of cool breeze
Sweeps across the ocean to nullify
The heat of day

In a tribe with a shape
Of a maize
Who knows the ways of the fish in the frying pan?
Who knows the route of the wooden spatula in the cast iron pot?
A plate on which darkness and light
Share communion conducted by onions

I press the Ga kɔmi with my thumb
Measuring the texture and its profile
And I salivate though I’m not a dog

Ŋmedaa, my drink, my pride
Though its dark
Darker than night
My ultimate dessert
As well as starter


A very hospitable tribe – my tribe
The meticulously crafted
Women
Carefully brewed in the pot
Of respect, obedience
Beauty and morality

The strong and muscular men
Their palms hardened by
The graciousness of the ropes
The sweats- round and proud
Poud to be the Akwashoŋtse

Of their skin

Now what do we see in our generation?



KingPoet©