POEM: On Passing A Village School

Nothing but a shadow

Being used for a shelter


And nothing but stones


Being used for desks.


Nothing but a drum


Used instead of a bell


But they know what I know


And can read what I read.


This village school stands


Along the dusty road I passed


Moving about the tree

As the earth rotates each day.


Farmers can tell the time


Each day by this alone


Brave children of the soil


Working for the future


In this dusty classroom.

Memories Of Dawn At KuKuhill

Inside the gate the smell of strong tea in the air


With burnt toast and real butter


Outside the gate, strong cinnamon and nutmeg.


But I preferred the neighbors who


Cooked rice, plantain and pepper sauce

And the other that made me nauseous at times,


Fried curry rice and herbs.


But I could stand the garlic


And onions from the other side


As I wondered how many bags of onion could smell that strong.


The dawn came each morning and the sun was never late


Transporting these scents through the neighborhood.


Now I wonder if there is anyone left to admire the dawn


And smell the scents floating in the air.


The only equalizer on KuKuhill was the dawn.

The dawn is still spectacular on Kukuhill


Even if time and change have robbed it of its audience.


Nature makes up for everything


With the perfect moon and such


And for the Hilltop at KuKuhill


The dawns were spectacular


With the dew drops on the grass


Reflecting like crystals from the sun rising in the East


And those insects who have ventured into the light


Now lying helpless on the ground,

Struggling to recapture their lost flight


Before the crows and other birds


Make a feast of them,


Before the sun fully shows itself


The dawn was still spectacular on KuKuhill.

Dedicated to the memories of my parents:
Mr. D S O Addo 1902-1989
Mrs. Margaret Ellen Dedei Addo 1914-2002