Fix this country

Fri, 7 May 2021 Source: Inusah Mohammed

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When I look at this country

with its gaping sores that ooze puss

And the frightening silence that predicts its doom

I remember the old man on that high table,

who only but yesterday was a-beg-gar of us

I remember the destinies we tossed on a flip of coins;

Pretend. And called flames flowers. Losses are profits.

Brood. Zoom. Gloom and this country is doom

There is no peace in these pieces here

To tell of how pregnant women give it up in Korle Bu;

And the thousand ghosts roaming our death-trap roads

To tell of how golden, water has become

And how the Akosombo almost always never gives light

There are no tales here;

To sing of how ale and beer is a hard-to-come-by

And death is sold on our highways

And how the man in the castle never hears

There are no graves to bury our heroes

No coffins to lay in state our broken identity

For these scavengers have fed on our innards

We are chasing demons

We are running away from the sun

We are walking hardships

And we are mourning too

//Fix This Country//

//Fix This Country//

//Fix This Country//

Fix this land

For all the cacophony made at our doorsteps yesterday

Fix this country

For all the land you "eat" like a marauding horde of locusts

Fix it and fix that,

Like how you and I lied to each other yesterday

Of creating a new sun for this backward country

As if you were a godly entity saving our death for your

last term.


Columnist: Inusah Mohammed
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