Village boy Impressions

Fifteen villages share the land And more if you look closely They till it, mould it, build it And call it Buluk, home. The children have dispersed far Many no longer remember it, At least not in the old fond way. They do not know its history They do not speak its language But the old blood runs strong . Its fire burns in their hearts, They want to know; and For them the land tells its tale:   "I have lain here ages uncounted Before ever a foot trod upon my back  Or men spoke with voices, and I have seen and known much  That none now knows or remembers. But I would have you know, that, Once I was a far green country, Without border or path or hamlet. Countless streams fed by steady rains Coursed through my valleys, Filled with innumerable fishes. Spectacular creatures and extinct monsters, Roamed across my woodlands; Gigantic buffalos and mammoth-like elephants, Giant reptiles and the mysterious Sivatherium; The moose-like giraffe named Shiva’s beast. And numerous mega-herbivores t

Photo Credit: Franz Kröger All over the land of Buluk, over hills and fields  Where long grass grows and stout trees thrive   The trade wind comes racing, swelling about the trees   What news from the north, Oh hurrying wind?   What tidings do you bear in your dusty breeze?   Have you seen Azantilow the tall and mighty   By sun, moon or by starlight bright?   Where now is he, the bold, the ancient, the brave?   Maybe you have heard the horn of the son of  Ayieta.   Echoing in the hills and vales of the land Upon azagsuk , long I stood and listened Under the shade of acham I tarried in vain Tell me not that he is no more! But alas, his horn is silent, and his feet are cold The north wind is still, impotent with tears                             Read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Song of Atuga Towards akumcham ever shall I gaze There our foes fled in dismay Before its dying stump, ever I sigh Under its withered crown ever I wait, O, Ayieta b

       The earth was full, the valleys green The plains stretched on from east to west The skies were clear and full of bird song When Atuga rose and walked the land. He loved the plains most rich and fair Bathed by light of sun, moon, and stars. He named the nameless hills and vales He drank from yet unsullied streams He beheld the remnants of the land And perceived them most fair and bold Read: Village Boy Impressions -  FEOK - The Hallowed Festival of the Builsa       The world was fair and less callous In those days before the coming Of mounted raiders and plunderers From the North, the East, and West And from far South over many seas. No stain yet on the land was seen; No axe was laid to the verdant shrub No raging fires to the brown sward No plough had broken the loamy fields All was fair and good in Atuga’s day. Then said he, ‘this shall be my home’ And among the remnant, he abode From them chose he a maiden to wife Dar

“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