My name is Kofi
And my father's story
Kisses the taste of time in fury
Because the nature of African culture struggles for her glory.
The heart of the dawn
Is fading away to the reign of the lasting rain
Like the pieces of paper under the heat of the fires pain.
In some morning before the Christmas festivity
We trek through the path
That narrowed down our lives to humility
With the leaves of our fathers breath.
The reigning echo of our chants
Annihilates the powers that produced us
From the ties of creation
To grant freedom and immunity from enemies curse.
We plucked the "abancheluku" leaves
But it was the prime rose of our birth
We stoned the cherry tree for fun and food
To nip out her fruits of creation
And it was the joy of the spirit
That broke from the heart of creation.
We told papa our story
Grandpa died that night
Maybe we murdered grandpa
Or maybe served him the perfect meal for his eternal walk
For strength and joy in the other world
With our innocent hearts.
Tell me my uncle!
Tell me my fate!
Tell me my story that awaits me!
I'll forever be indebted to your grave.
originalpoetry by 
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