He who pays respect to the great man , paves way for his own greatness.
Our dreams were built from decades to centuries, by leaders who wished to trade our image into possibilities
In the period of trade, our priceless inheritance was exchanged for less valuable commodities, which were scarce for the natives on the island of treasuries
Heads were putted together to draw greatness from the borehole using hands as pulleys
Until the minds of our kings were bought with the smoke in pipes
From then, there was a change in pattern of trade from items to the strength of men
And also the assistance in household chores from our women was in high demand
Chains then became our bracelets and whips our ally to pains
Brutality was climaxed with the era of colonialism where our affairs were managed with canes
During their regime of administration, our sweats were flied to the white man’s land as colonial gains
The cries and roars from the disturbed humanity in our mothers got the elites attracted and so they fought in rains
And then, the petition of self government saw it’s way to the throne of the British monarch
Upon hearing the news of self rule, birds sang from joy and sheeps bleated for independence labelled as a trademark
Our women danced their plights into the skies, as the twin eagles flied high to welcome the era of freedom and justice
They say perfection is achieved not without constant practice, so patriotic entities greased their effort with perfect practice
And so came the voice of the cock from Jakppa Lanta’s hut, producing harmonic rhythm from Philip Gbeho’s
“God bless our homeland Ghana”.
I learnt Okomfo Anokye commanded the unity of the Ashanti’s from the skies,
And Tohajie, the red hunter taught his people how to hunt for games that flies.
Unity then became our slogan and so development became an essential tissue in our organ
Ephraim Amoh stole the minds of our people with his flute and the melodies from his atentenben caught the heart of Mrs Theodosia Oko,
So she packaged the red blood, shed by our fathers in the gold dockets of our mothers; who nurtured the greenish nature of our agriculture to instill hope in our black star.
Days faded into weeks, weeks into months and months into years
And still, the seed of life inherent in Tetteh Quarshie’s cocoa lives in the depth heart of Nkrumah’s land.
Our country is improving, though on a slow pace,
So I urge someone to send my petit
ion to Osagyefo, the show boy
That his audience is needed in the cooking of the economic, political and social affairs of his fancy toy, Ghana.
Because, tribalism has rotten the
feet of your people
And so the Elephant of the NPP is feeling too big causing the Umbrella of the NDC not ready to shelter it.
The sweet water from the PNC’s coconut is thirsting the CPP’s cock, so it has vowed not to crow.
This and many more is kowtowing us to the status quo.
There is no harm in trying, yet there is shame in not giving it a try
As I petition Nkrumah to help, I petition the living legends of our present Ghana to offer a helping hand to the upcoming heroes and heroines
For our pledged motherland to graduate from the land where nothing happens to the shores of possibilities.
by: Johnny Rhymes