Village boy Impressions

Photo by  Kid Circus  on  Unsplash RESOLVED, I must up and act Rave against this inaction Why must I rust in waiting? An eternity of rest is coming. How can I be idle?   Strive for what is mine I must For none shall render it to me But I with my calloused hands Grab it in my stride to keep Ever the rapid hours go by Without a pause And with them I must grind Till I’m spent and ragged I cannot quite down, but Like the wind and the tide I too must roar and pound   Asleep, awake, by day or  night   Time speeds by on light wing The tide of destiny swings as ever And around the idle it bends  For with hands is it ever carved How then can I be idle?   It matters not that I fail at it I am but spent upon a worthy cause Not rusted with a vile repose Waiting for naught but the grave Where worms shall feast upon  Flesh and bone long preserved And all chance for action is beyond Recall or desire.   You reap not where you sow not

It is almost midnight, 31 st December 2017. I am jumping and shouting in church with millions of others worldwide or at least in Ghana. Saying thanks to God for seeing me through the year 2017. After more than 30 minutes of jubilant praise, we settle down for the final blessing. As the priest raises the monstrance with the body of Christ to bless us, a lady beside me sighed and said: “At last we say goodbye to this horrible year”. I turned to look at her and realized she was breathing heavily, and sweating profusely from ecstatic dancing and shouting. I had just been doing the same thing and I was also breathless and feeling wet and sticky under my sweater. I had put on a sweater because I was afraid it would get cold as the night wore on in this harmattan season. Indeed, many others were dressed like me. Yes, we knew our weather well but we had underestimated how ecstatic and boisterous our celebration would be once the hour arrived. So, all the ceiling fans were in full swing and

I heard a man had a dream once It was a bold dream And they shot him down cold Dreams are dangerous things! I also had a dream, once It wasn't a bold dream And I woke up sweating; Dreams are scary things! Why ever do we dream? I ask. Read: Village Boy Impressions -  Fathers Yet how may we sleep If we cannot dream? And how may we live If our dreams be quenched? I say, let us all dream... Let the children dream; And let the elders dream What does it matter If we shoot at God and miss? Dreams are the salt of life Without them, life is tasteless, Worthless, pointless, stale I should be glad of an early grave! Read: Village Boy Impressions -  My First Snow

“6th of March! March!  Nineteen fifty-seven, seven!  Ghaaana, independence day! Ghana is marching,  Ghana is marching, Ghana, Ghana,  Ghana is mar—ching!” Those were the words we sang, with our shrill voices Shuffling our feet and swinging our arms  Proud even though we knew little of what we sang And we all loved the '6th March' marching day, But surely that was a long long time ago. But what is there to tell about mother Ghana now? They say, we said our country was free forever And yet every day I see her in heavy chains They say, we said, we could manage our own affairs But when last I checked,  The Impossible Mission Fund (IMF) was still in charge. They say, they said, well, isn’t that all we know? The days have gone down in the west;  and now you are old, dear mother. The elderly should recount the good old days.  And the young talk endlessly about dreams,  And castles in the air But what do you talk about at your age?  'good ol