I send you sweet salutation for your scenic scenery: your fresh flowing fountains; flourished flowers, and your most hospitable humans.
The entire universe praises your peace, even your naysayers agree that your hospitality is more pronounced than the hospital’s.
Undoubtedly, your history is brighter than the brightest moon on a full sunshine night, but regrettably, it’s getting gloomier than the devil himself expected:
As I flip through the pages of my father’s fathers history; I confess – before Nkrumah and the “big five” went to labour to birth your independence in 1957, your children were never even colonised, only their bodies were chained. Sadly today, mom, the slave masters have mastered our being and have colonised everything of ours including our mines and minds…
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Mom, a calamity has befallen your nation; our pockets are fractured even thieves are now stolen. The conscience of your youth have gone on a vacation even prostitutes are raped. Your youth have embraced sins that even the devil is repentant from, they have befriended the guns, exchanging peace for pieces, just so their hands may reach their mouths..
Your governments claim to serve the masses yet amass their wealth; they preach development while depriving, promise progress yet retrogress the nation. They care more about the worms in their stomach than the average citizen. They create jobs on paper while it’s easier to find a dinosaur at Kejetia than a single job!
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Your resources are presented on the alter of our ‘slave masters’ in exchange for loans which attract so much interests that will forever make us “self reliant”!
Sadly, some of your children by any means unthinkable desert you, finding their way to another man’s “heaven” – where they are slaved with works that contrast their humanity and get rewarded with deportation at the least mistake uncommitted.
Motherland, I remembered when you recently complained bitterly of your waist pains and the fact that you are still on medication, only for your kindest son to come visiting with a bulldozer, mining deep down your feeble body, puncturing holes and leaving bruises just to “galamsey” (gather them and sell) your precious parts, without thinking the least about your yet unborn children.
But dear mom, don’t become weary of worry, for IT’S STILL POSSIBLE to reclaim your glory. If only we’d become spectacular citizens and not just spectators, soon then will we nourish you with the development you deserve.