Africa, p.2Wilson Ayinbangya Amooro
To comfort her ailing body
I understood her emotions perfectly
I was her therapy
With the joy and pride I brought to 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
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
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]
With sweet words of consolation
Selling sealed empty envelopes
As luck letters sent from above specially for 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
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
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]
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
To what binds
These days in sermons only we find
I know how it feels
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
The growing chills
On my skin
Pulls out a live wire within
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
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
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
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
When we look up
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
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
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.
Africa by Wilson Ayinbangya Amooro / History & Fiction have rating 2.8 out of 5 / Based on37 votes