Africa, p.2
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       Africa, p.2

           Wilson Ayinbangya Amooro
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  To comfort her ailing body

  I understood her emotions perfectly

  I was her therapy

  With the joy and pride I brought to her

  Promising her

  The whole of my first salary

  Mama’s eyes became the window

  Of her leaky heart of gratitude

  Knowing that the man in me

  Is responsible enough to father her grandkids

  Holding my wise mom’s hands

  Who is an ‘illiterate’ by Western Education Standards

  She read every emotion

  That gathered on the twin windows of my body

  I saw clouds gathering in her eyes too

  She wrote perfectly the story of our lives together

  With her good tears for ink

  To rain the beauty of a confident woman in her

  I wish I could bribe destiny

  For a second chance

  To be reborn as the little baby

  In her gentle arms of yesterday

  So I could continue to enjoy

  The pamper of her aura of pure joy

  I don’t mind carrying the folly of the world on me

  As the grown man who still runs to the mom

  Liken to diaper-changing

  I will do it for your pampering

  It touches me in a different way

  And makes me smile with you

  Through and through

  I don’t believe in superstars

  I believe in you my African mama

  African Papa Cries

  When you make him feel special

  And suddenly disappear without a trace

  When a brave African soldier is hit hard in the heart

  By the bullet of music that reminds him of his lost African roots

  When he sees his best friend

  Seeing the lady his lonely soul was so shy to approach

  When he gets a kiss from a bee

  A reward from his very own brother so fake

  That tries to starve him of the free air

  That nature provides for its citizens

  When he runs the race

  That his mind sure knows he won’t win

  Be it health, wealth, education, relationship-wise

  And destiny smiles to him

  With a surprise

  To rise again

  I understand why some cry

  Without sadness written on their faces

  They have gathered the courage

  To hide the pain through life’s phases

  But the tsunami of emotions within

  Cleanses the heart

  With tears as a beautiful art

  To explain the things in life

  That can’t be explained in words

  Dreams without teams

  We heed to our men of God

  Praying on our bent knees

  Hoping for Heav’n to rain us manna

  When we know deep within our heart

  We haven’t done our human part

  Man of God pauses in the middle of prayer

  Asks for wine to appease the divine world

  Which has to pass through his stomach

  To reach to the world above

  We spent most of our lives in school

  Education preached as the powerful tool

  A life after promised to be cool

  Only to be fooled

  By advertisement for jobs

  Interview over interview

  I am tired of borrowing Azure’s suit

  Kwabena’s shoes

  Damba’s necktie

  Adjoa’s last handkerchief

  The man feigns sympathy for my plight

  Where is the light?

  When I discover the manager

  Is separated by a veranda from my haven

  Where is the light?

  When he’s not honest with my plight

  With his bold handshake after the Sunday service

  What next?

  Friends dragged me along

  To a soothsayer

  The gods of the land

  Need for fried rice and chicken

  With vodka as consultation fee

  Has risen my blood pressure

  I am timid to tell the wise one

  I am on a 3-day hunger strike

  For poverty has embarrassed my youthful face


  I walk to the counselor

  Hearing his big grammar confuses me the more

  And robs me more of my ordinary self

  For how long…

  Shall my longing

  Be given ‘special water’

  Which appears more expensive

  Than the sugar I need for my Hausa koko[porridge]

  Bribing reality

  With sweet words of consolation

  Selling sealed empty envelopes

  As luck letters sent from above specially for me

  Tempting me

  To trade my little for less

  I have been…

  waiting, waiting, waiting

  roaming, roaming, roaming

  hoping, hoping, hoping

  It seemed no one hears

  When my dreams scream

  When I decide to remain silent of my dreams

  They scream, ‘WAKE UP BLIND DREAMER’

  Where is our African dream

  For the youthful energetic generation…

  If we do not team

  To redeem our mainstream

  As the African people of essence

  For our own

  If we can’t feel the pain in another’s bloodstream

  Then, we don’t have a dream yet

  Prisoner to President: Nelson Mandela

  A tender heart is one that willingly forgives

  With all the right reasons

  To pay back

  Love showered instead

  Concentrating not on the scars

  Counting the stars

  Of hope

  Blind to mortal eyes

  Learning early in life that:

  Revenge is heavier to carry than love

  A long, long walk

  Sometimes so wearied to talk

  The only energy that may be left

  Is to hold on the reasons of the seasons bold

  Twenty-seven years of toil

  His spirit was broken

  But his love for humanity wasn’t taken

  From a prisoner to a President

  Hard work wasn’t enough

  Passion was burnt

  From zero to hero

  He showed us we can rise

  From nothing to something

  [Even if we don't inherit special genes]

  We should nev'r forget to commit our all to it

  Black Youth Wake Up!

  Sagging our pants

  Won’t get us a job

  Our dreams will

  Nodding our heads to hip hop

  Won’t put food on our tables

  Our lifestyle

  Is worth preaching good music

  Clubbing around every party

  Won’t get us the scholarship

  A healthy relationship

  With those above us

  [As our ancestors echo]

  Is apprenticeship

  To tap into wisdom

  Wanting to be a celebrity

  Is not acting like someone else

  Know your worth

  And be ready to be yourself

  My beautiful, brilliant, blessed African Youth!

  Feeling for Africa

  I know how it feels

  When our land’s rich oil

  Bless not our people’s toil

  Poverty smiling on our faces so real


  Normal creed

  Eyes blind

  To what binds


  These days in sermons only we find

  I know how it feels

nbsp; When a mother loses a baby

  Because our hospital has no light

  How do I feel alright?

  With lazy music words like

  ‘Please take heart, God gives and takes’

  This travels deeper than the sword

  God helps His people

  That are willing to help their own

  Our ancestors I call on your rains

  To come dilute our mistakes

  Cure for our pain

  I know how it feels

  When a brother falls short ill

  With no funds to pay the bills

  Delay kills

  The growing chills

  On my skin

  Pulls out a live wire within

  My spirit

  Now too weak to lift

  I know how it felt

  When one brilliant Akolpoka

  Missed an opportunity

  To become the first citizen of her village

  To be in the university

  Her poor nomad parents

  Couldn’t afford a brown envelope

  For the officials

  Like others did at the strange hours

  The beginning and ending of the sad story

  Makes my spirit worry

  Eyes impregnated with water

  Anytime I reconnect

  To where we are heading to

  Bitter or better?

  Judge for yourself

  My African pride

  Of ancient civilization

  Adorned in robes of royal hood

  Haven for God’s chosen Prophet Moses

  I have no regrets

  Feeling this way

  My story would reach distant shores

  And someday

  Bring joy forevermore

  To Africa for Africans

  Victim to Survivor

  If I fall for crying

  Don’t drown me

  In my own pool of water

  Welled from my eyes

  After each stare of myself

  In mirage of wounded emotions

  I promise to carry my broken pieces along

  In this misty weather

  I understand why our human hearts

  Are easily convinced to open the flood gates

  [When our hidden feelings are stirred]

  Through the twin windows of our eyes

  It blends our lives with rain

  To wash away the pains

  If I fade away


  I am on my eternal journey

  To enjoy endless peace

  Don’t lay expensive wreaths

  To my wearied body

  A simple gentle word

  Could have consoled the strange emotions

  I battled inside

  All alone

  Whiles I walked on earth

  Now laid on me

  Unattractive, charming gifts

  To trade for pride

  You are not the one

  I’m trying hard to forget

  [I understand better now]

  I am undoing the bitter stings

  That have stolen my wings

  I am letting go of the things

  I can’t change

  Before they change me

  The knock down of life

  Has taught me a strange truth

  ‘Good lies build better than love that steals’

  If I pass on to glory on a bent knee

  Praying for you

  I trust your feign tears

  Won’t find confidence

  To mock my silent feelings anymore

  If I lose my last breath

  To praising you

  I will always remember

  I own a little heart clothed

  In human flesh

  Like yours

  So I won’t judge you

  Please don’t judge me

  I am Africa

  I understand human dignity lost

  Once being a slave

  And being willing to be brave again

  Beyond my past pain

  I am Africa

  I am a survivor!

  The Rhythm of Africa

  There is a heartbeat here that runs through every day, every event, every moment.

  I hear it in the morning crow of the cock outside my window as dawn bursts forth.

  I feel it as I listen to the bugs and tree frogs chirping.

  Birds echo their call with their songs.

  I feel it as I hear a sheep baa and a crow caw in the lot next door.

  The traffic of cars and footsteps begin.

  I feel it as the children march to school after singing and dancing to the beat of assembly.

  The drums mark the time and herald the breaks.

  I see it and hear it as children recite orally and rewrite notes on endless pages.

  I sense it in the smiling faces of dark children with bright eyes.

  The rhythm of “Good Morning, Good afternoon and How are you?” echoes.

  I feel it in their playful running and their innocent greetings.

  The taxis keep a beat too!

  Lined up for the next run, they rotate and travel in so many directions.

  Round and round rotaries and back alleys.

  The heartbeat of Kumasi continues with traffic and pedestrians.

  Folks sell their wares and repeat the mantra of a sale.

  Sewing machines whir, hammers pound, machines grind!

  All the sounds of the city make their own music.

  This is the rhythm of Ghana.

  It is the heartbeat of the people.

  Their network of repetition, tradition and mores beats.

  They depend on this constant.

  New beats are hard to assimilate.

  The shouts of the crowds in the stadium have a beat.

  The choirs in the churches resound.

  Preaching on Sunday and school on Monday has a rhythm.

  This constant thread of symbols, sounds, stories and rhythm make up this continent and its people.

  I feel it in the music, the dance and the language.

  I see it written on the cloth and the architecture.

  It is natural and earthy.

  It is strong and grounded in history.

  They find comfort in its consistency.

  As visitors, we can learn much from them

  Voices sing when hands are at work

  Work is happiness

  Our hearts coining a new song for the blessings of rains nursing our land

  Children playing in the heavenly water, our tropic snow has arrived

  Our mothers clapping their hands, beating their breasts, letting their hearts out to lay to rest our departed brethren

  In black and red or white garbs

  A celebration of life to cure strife

  The melody flowing like the soft rustling waters of Kintampo Water Falls

  Blending into the symphony of the fontofrom drums from the cultural centres

  Tickles a toe to Azonto a dance move

  The whistling of the farmer

  Is a fulfilling song to pamper his toil…

  As the animals respond to their master’s call

  Where does the music brew from?

  From the heart of Africa

  To her own and visitors

  She gladly shares


  Author Cheryl Thompson & Wilson Ayinbangya Amooro

  Volunteers for Africa

  Your services to mama Africa


  But not worthless

  We can’t pay back

  Your value on our scales is priceless

  Words to match our overflowing cups

  We lack

  When we look up

  We pray

  God bless your happiness to stay

  To our children

  You gave them hugs as gifts

  From the snow-land

  The hope in their eyes re
ceived gentle lifts

  To see their dreamland

  You traveled on our red roads

  To our villages of need

  Inhaled our dust

  Our mosquitoes didn’t spare you

  Your bones and tears shared in our fever

  Mental imagery connected forever

  Africa is not alone

  We are all one

  When Africa smiles instead of weeps

  Heart to heart we keep

  In us volunteers for Africa

  Our heroes!



  F-Friendly people

  R-Rich land

  I-Industrious hands

  C-Caring hearts

  A-Attractive culture

  Thank you from the bottom of my heart, for your support.

  I hope you enjoyed reading this book. Please remember to leave a review for my book at your favorite retailer.

  Without YOU, I am no me!

  Biography of Author:

  Wilson Ayinbangya Amooro, known internationally as Wilson the Poet, has won recognition for creating poetry that speaks deeply of the human experience. Drawing from his own experiences of life, love, faith, and loss, his work has garnered him praise from awarding bodies and the appreciation of his fans. He began writing in 2003 at the age of 14, when his first piece entitled "Mother's Love" won him the second runner up prize in a national competition organized by Nestle Ghana Limited. He continued to write poetry, and began gaining more exposure in 2013 when his work received acknowledgment by the United Nations via the International Organization for Migration (IOM). That year he was featured on Top Radio 103.1 in Accra, Ghana, and in the annual edition of Gong Gong Magazine. His poetry has been featured in the poetry anthology "Breaking Silence: Poetic Lifeline From Slavery to Love." His work can also be found in the Amazon-published anthology "Nelson Mandela Tributes," and he regularly video blogs performances of his works. Wilson is an active member of Poetry Foundation Ghana, and the Ghana-based People of Equal Thoughts and Spirit (P.O.E.T.S).

  He is also a CosmiKids Ghana representative and Hunter School friend in New Hampshire USA. As a published poet and author, Wilson is launching a permaculture poetry contest with middle and upper school students. Hunter's School (P4) Pen Pal Project is a global youth collaborative celebrating children and nature. Bringing together schools and organizations from across the globe for sharing and learning. He and the Development Director of the Hunter School will be publishing a book of children’s poetry and photos of the experience.

  Aside from writing poetry, Wilson is also passionate about astronomy. He founded Young Astronomers Ghana in 2010, which is still active today. As a profession, he is a practicing nurse. He also has a "Naming X" merit from organization Father’s Film U.K.

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