Ama G(h)ana

    ASANTE

    Kumasi, your name, a tree with millions 
    of golden branches,
    a border of origin from which your mother
    was missing until she flickered on the ghostly lane, & again
    in the city under Oboase.
    Your children, named after historical wars of
    a stranger who intruded your territory. 
    In their manhood might have met a man 
    inscribed as a stomach leader or
    a greedy caucus who owned them money,
    perhaps, he partners with crime
    You, mother & father did not foretell your children 
    not to drink black tea from the man


    AKUSIKA

    In the past, you wanted to stitch students to fit 
    the class quo, little did you
    know you were spelled to only imagine the world
    of riches. In the present, you are being traded. 
    The country pressing in on you 
    until it feels like a faux sperm.
    You are crumbled on the land of captors. You have
    fought for your part of liberty.
    You have dwindled the tricks of the man . But who
    will stay with you? 
    Who will bring you food from the above? I know you 
    are a mother beyond everlasting 
    yet you are defaced by boat sails. You said you are 
    mightier  than the fists of God.
    What should your children's children eat when you are
    nothing but invisible fog in thin air?
    You still want to challenge the wind that sits with your   
    children after you died? You still won't retreat?


    DEMOCRACY

    Named after the dictators from 1844 who signed the oath of death. Named for the  
    heroes in your heart. A name like Ananse, whose origin  
    you said embarrasses you.  
    On treasure island you are mentioned in the days   
    of the storms. Whichever stance— 
    I endure with you, the worst. I will be a parsimony, a tool
    to save you. If they don't want you, 
    turn back the books of nineteen ninety two. If allowed,  
    they believe,  
    you will gauge them from your back eyes & stab the one who  
    made you the subject of the kingdom.  


    IBRAHIM MAHAMAH

    Any chariot which  rode for protection in the years of the
    cattle is peaceful. Any activity
    referring to a slave master's name is political. Take one or    
    deem it opposing.  
    To reject is to accept, when exactly it is you lost your way home?    
    My grandmother 
    said if you fight for peace, you fight for  life. When you break   
    a norm, you raze your home. 
    Here, everything unfair is overlooked, how much more a    
    child dying from penury given a name to  
    hail in politics. I want an answer from a council, if you claim   
    you sit to think about people, how many  
    of the homeless have been sheltered under the busy bridge?


    KWAME NKRUMAH

    It is said you never died. God never wanted you to depart   
    from the people. They made us believe, 
    brethren of lies. I walk passed an abandoned building   
    with debris of your legacies shrewd  
    on the green-coated wall. For sixty eight years of rain,   
    I have parked your works  
    into prayers that keep me during crisis. I have named   
    you after the deities in the soil.  
    Any person who survived slavery's lash with you knows   
    how to produce vision. 
    Despite the forces you fought like a trojan. I have   
    plastered a statue as a liturgy to mourn your living on every twenty first.   
    I mean to say Nkrumah, you never die. Stoop, stoop & rage like a god.

    
    JB DANQUAH

    Father JB served to the last breath of his people in 
    the name of patriotism. 
    I want him undead & freed. I want him to be a fog 
    in his mansion & hover those 
    who sacrificed their fears for his life. I want his hands
    away from their pocket. They made
    him bite more than he could chew. 
    His selfless contribution was accounted ungrateful. 
    I want to ask if that is
    how a political figure is being paid in the west? 
    I want to meet the ancestors for stocks. 
    I want to say, father JB, reincarnates as Anokye. 


    STRAND
    
    There are no roses for the custodians of death 
    ravaged by election—
    Taadi girls, 2016 & 2020, so many that can’t  buy life.
    So many graves for dead children. I can now worship  
    friends among the dead
    more than the living. Boy, breathe air into your body
    once again— come witness the
    burial of your soul. To die is to relive everything—
    What is death on
    the skin of a gagged body? A torso's testimony
    becomes a burning sensation, 
    such that he falls in love with the devil to overshadow 
    his throat. He is exhausted. 
    She has taken sufficient poison to kill her. He dies to live.

Albert Asare Kweku, writing as K. Asare-Bediako is a Ghanaian writer and poet. He chose writing as a therapy to aid him breath away the thoughts of his unseen father. He is featured in both local and international magazines. He was a shortlist of the SBL prize, 2023. You can connect with him on: X; @Asarewrites IG; @asarewrites FACEBOOK; Phaa K. Asare-Bediako