—–THE TONGUE OF
THE CALABASH—–

The clock chimes six o’clock
As I sit in red palms
Under a village hut unlocked
As the palm wine is sipped in dots
From my empty belly stock
To make their feet spread the dust
I leave indelible sounds
In ”bara drums”
For I fade my throat
At a malian durbar!
Till a bleach invade my skin
Warm yellow I do still remain
Till with age and use I vanish
”Shegureh” I do still remain
By the hands of a sierra leonean
Till I am shrouded
I still count the ”Tourou women” hairs
That I’m a headgear!
With all my blessings
In the forest must I be hidden?
O! Africa!
The warehouse of the seeker!
When the universe stood from words
Then I began swinging on trees for the best
That my people shall be fed
For I bow before you with ease!
Let not the black soil repent
As I charge your souls
To rise over the fence
I hold my tongue!
Kofi Acquah—–(C)2015
All Copyrights Reserved