THE BEAUTY THAT SHINES
Thou art beautiful, Kabutuwaa,
Thou art very beautiful indeed.
See how thy skin colour
Portrays the true beauty of Mama Africa.
Thou art the darkness that gave birth
To light on the day of creation,
For thy humble character inspires
Thy divinely given blackness.
She is the beauty that every precious
Hook seeks to lay the hands on.
Yes, she is the greatest beauty
That nature has ever invested in.
She is the only moon that brightens
The boiling sun in my village.
Obaahemaa is in fact the barrier
Between tomorrow and the dawn.
Even though she is at the
Other side of the moon,
The drummer shall continue
Beating in deep silence.
And if she hears the beating
Of his heart and she is willing,
She shall surely run towards home.
Let all the market women
Come along with their logbooks
And enjoy the flooding fire.
Let the drums and the rich resonant voices
Of Okyeman put their hands and throats to play.
Alert the slave master
Of this montage occasion,
For the true taste of the
Sacred calico has grown dim
And the echoes of the drizzling rain
Have erupted the volcanic mountains.
Her name is Yaa Kabutuwaa,
Born on a beautiful Thursday morning.
Offer my darling with the seasonal cloth
In its rich natural taste and sight,
For nature has nothing to gain
Except romantic visions and dreams.
Look up!
There she stands on her slender legs
In the middle of the blazing sun,
Spreading her lovely wings over my loneliness.
Call her by her name!
Sit her down!
Sing to her the secret bee’s song of love
To cool down her thirsty heart.
But if my true shining beauty will agree,
Give her a place in my heart to sleep this night.
Thou art very beautiful indeed.
See how thy skin colour
Portrays the true beauty of Mama Africa.
Thou art the darkness that gave birth
To light on the day of creation,
For thy humble character inspires
Thy divinely given blackness.
She is the beauty that every precious
Hook seeks to lay the hands on.
Yes, she is the greatest beauty
That nature has ever invested in.
She is the only moon that brightens
The boiling sun in my village.
Obaahemaa is in fact the barrier
Between tomorrow and the dawn.
Even though she is at the
Other side of the moon,
The drummer shall continue
Beating in deep silence.
And if she hears the beating
Of his heart and she is willing,
She shall surely run towards home.
Let all the market women
Come along with their logbooks
And enjoy the flooding fire.
Let the drums and the rich resonant voices
Of Okyeman put their hands and throats to play.
Alert the slave master
Of this montage occasion,
For the true taste of the
Sacred calico has grown dim
And the echoes of the drizzling rain
Have erupted the volcanic mountains.
Her name is Yaa Kabutuwaa,
Born on a beautiful Thursday morning.
Offer my darling with the seasonal cloth
In its rich natural taste and sight,
For nature has nothing to gain
Except romantic visions and dreams.
Look up!
There she stands on her slender legs
In the middle of the blazing sun,
Spreading her lovely wings over my loneliness.
Call her by her name!
Sit her down!
Sing to her the secret bee’s song of love
To cool down her thirsty heart.
But if my true shining beauty will agree,
Give her a place in my heart to sleep this night.
CONSUMMATION
This quiet night is too pure,
And the envious one is about
To sow the seed of jubilation.
Evil has overtaking me,
And my love one is about to
Bleed the tears of contempt.
The struggle is real,
And the jealous one is about to coat
The motion portrait of euphoria.
Why was this price not
Accepted before my first moan?
This breathless peace cannot be the
Place where my heart calls home.
Oh life, spite my weightless star
Over the southern hyaline.
I cannot believe that my inept
Name is about to ration the little
Palmwine with the prelate ancestors.
How long will my wife’s
Womb continue to yowl?
Fate could not even wait
For my fondness to breathe my sun.
Beat the overt drums of time
And give me a pot of warm water,
For my blank soul has no other
Value except endurance and rejection.
Blow the covert horn of endless time
And let me ride over dawn and dusk,
For my greatest traitor has come
To hint me of my beholder’s score.
My sacred cloud waves are now
Pregnant with dry rain of gold dust.
What have I done to
Wound my own ghost?
I have nothing more
To sacrifice except my morrow.
Alight my irrevocable paean at the
Potent door of my inescapable darkness,
And let the gods take possession and audit
My perfect price of ornate fragrance.
THE BLACK STAR
The foretold episode is ripe
And the childless dawn is now flowering.
The awesome parrots of Africa
Have began swimming in the heavens
And singing the verses of the paraded bees,
For the warrior of South Africa
Has ultimately impregnated the goddess
Without violating her divine virginity.
The black star arouse from Ghana,
Journeyed gorgeously through Zimbabwe
And has decisively descended on South Africa.
But this is just the divine seed,
Yet to grow into a full black African moon,
For the black star of the black man
Is the religious light yet to radiate on
The colorless naivete of mankind.
Ah, the premise behind this
Exhibition makes a perfect sense.
We did begin it all,
Pilgrimage through it all
And shall end it all,
For the wreckage of humanity flies with time
And the megapower status
Of the African is a fact of life.
Today, a new voice has been
Added to the joy of the black woman,
Causing the dry bamboo flutes to buzz
With the pantaloons of the ancestors.
Adorn our emerald embryonic pride with
The ambrosial smiles and charms of the sunrise,
For the pelts of the peerless mid-night
Has been remodeled with our dark gore.
And the childless dawn is now flowering.
The awesome parrots of Africa
Have began swimming in the heavens
And singing the verses of the paraded bees,
For the warrior of South Africa
Has ultimately impregnated the goddess
Without violating her divine virginity.
The black star arouse from Ghana,
Journeyed gorgeously through Zimbabwe
And has decisively descended on South Africa.
But this is just the divine seed,
Yet to grow into a full black African moon,
For the black star of the black man
Is the religious light yet to radiate on
The colorless naivete of mankind.
Ah, the premise behind this
Exhibition makes a perfect sense.
We did begin it all,
Pilgrimage through it all
And shall end it all,
For the wreckage of humanity flies with time
And the megapower status
Of the African is a fact of life.
Today, a new voice has been
Added to the joy of the black woman,
Causing the dry bamboo flutes to buzz
With the pantaloons of the ancestors.
Adorn our emerald embryonic pride with
The ambrosial smiles and charms of the sunrise,
For the pelts of the peerless mid-night
Has been remodeled with our dark gore.
Copyright 2004 © PRINCE ANIN-AGYEI
Paradox
Born like a kid,
Believed like a child,
Thought like a philosopher,
Depressed like a prisoner,
Felt like a sinner,
Hated like a lawyer,
Ate like a veterinarian,
Lied like a politician,
Read like a historian,
Saw like a physician,
Slept like a pharmacist,
Smelt like a scientist,
Spoke like a priest,
Heard like an economist,
Loved like a counselor,
Tasted like a rich bachelor,
Worked like a tool,
Cheated like a fool,
Walked like a diplomat,
And died like a cat.
Copyright ©2005 Prince Anin-Agyei
The Demure Love
Why this quietness?
Why this seriousness?
Why this modesty?
Has the old lizardGrown another tail?
Oh, my immutable love,
The impalpable sweet-scented
Rose that impales my thoughts.
Have thou reached an impasse?
For the clouds have gathered
And there is nothing more
To expect but a storm.
My sliding helpless slick rhythm,
Thy words are always covered with
Stitches of honey in my heart.
Who is this impious imp?
Ravilling with my angelic heart?
Indeed, your love is wet and slippery.
Copyright ©2005 Prince Anin-Agyei
The Mileage
No peeking!
oh great owl
For the expedition
Is no more enlivened.
Oh no,the market women
Cannot afford the upkeep
Of this treacherous mileage.
Now see, the hunter does not
Even know what to throw away
And what to keep.
For the tranquillizing effect
Of her beauty, put my heart
Into trance every new moon.
My beautiful african queen,
Please speak the language of
The gods to my perturbed soul.
For my halcyon days of my
Youth is no more hale and hearty.
Never be a quisling to my heart.
Copyright ©2005 Prince Anin-Agyei
All The Answers
Sometimes nature has it all
Other times realities has it all
But this time my dear has it all
I love you mother africa
For you have all the answers.
Sometimes the elders have it all
Other times the gods have it all
But this time my princess has it all
I need you mother africa
For you know all the answers.
Sometimes you have it all
Other times I have it all
But this time they have it all
I see you mother africa
For you give all the answers.
Copyright ©2005 Prince Anin-Agyei
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