The JB Danquah Murder

A politician lost his life
We are in dangerous times

Count down on voters parade
Clans and gangs with their colours out

On your door leave a mark
To be identified by, being colour coded

If you are lucky you will be spared
That is, if you are lucky, that is

All the same, turn off all the lights
Put the dog in his cage, ssshhh! on the barking

The cat has its own sense of independence
That is unless it has been pampered spoilt rotten

And wears a scuff keeping up with vogue
Then it will be snobbish to the rat meat

And will not last a minute
Out in the wilderness

Sorry, a politician lost his life
Where was I, where was I

Oh yeah, a politician lost his life
Sorrowful this is, to comprehend

He left behind a young family
But he was well to do, so they will be fine to do

Now to the two opposing sides, clans, gangs
Pointing fingers of blame, like fuel on flame

Looking for political points to score
Like a board game with bets on play

Along the line an accused got arrested
He sure looks guilty, motives are just not so clear

Coincidence it may be, it can be, but
It is t' sensitive time that holds worrying thoughts

It is an election year, its an election year
Nothing can be taken for granted now

Count down on voters parade
T' clans and gangs are out with their colours

Something to do with winner takes all
It is that serious on stakes

Nothing is to be left for chance
Not when there is this much to loose

Lets just hope the election observers
Are seriously up to the job, being all fair

A politician just lost his life
We are in dangerous times

Rhetoric, rhetoric, suspicions
And propaganda fuels the paranoia

To Pimp A Butterfly

Compton is in Africa, true story
If you don't know, now you know

The greatest man that ever lived
Never blew his own horn

Somebody tell Kanye
Kanye we have a new hero

And he is down for the fight
On the greatest stage he let it rip

Somebody tell Kanye
Shades included "we gon be alright"

We have Kendrick Lamar
So we gon be alright

We gon be alright
We gon be alright

Chains on, broken chains off
Mental prison incarcerated minds

To pimp a butterfly
To pimp a butterfly

Fearfully shameful of our heritage
Badges worn as passports to belong

Denial infront of the limelight
Acceptance away from the limelight

Kendrick made us know
That campton is in Africa

For black is Africa
And the struggle did not start

From the middle passage
But from the main land Africa

To kill a mocking bird
To pimp a butterfly

Relevance relative to notions
This is the essence of poetry

And true rap has to be poetry
To have value  and be valued

Let the listener feel awaken
Knowing we gon be alright

We gon be alright 

We gon be alright 

We gon be alright

A Fool's Paradise

We are friendly people
We are always a friendly people
We are fools living in a fool's paradise
With the sun out and the breeze so nice

The shoreline lies with so much beauty
The waves coming in with songs of joy
Coconut trees line the beach lines
As boarders to our paradise

The drum and dance of the land
Adds to the vibrancy this land gives
They all say my people are friendly people
We are friendly people

Akwaaba, akwaaba are welcoming sounds
To be greeted with on arrival, oh a' those smiles
Greenery from the old trees that stand
Maintain that sense of paradise we offer

But don't look close, not that close
To the streets and be faced with
The reality of what stands as naked
Clear to be seen by all

The politics and religion of the day
Feels like brain washed gibbrish, garbage of drama
T' is concocted up in a false sense of morality rush
Pushed down the throat of the masses, force feed

T' guilty a' free and bold, the innocent surfer always
So t' value t' request a' now short of t' bear necessity
Settling for "it cloud be worse than this"
A' "give it to God" (fa ma nyame) as comfort slogans

Our institutions are all ruled by self proclaimed
Kings, men who expect and believe in t' resolve
That standing on ceremony holds more value
T' dealing w' t' nitty gritty of t' problems of t' day

We are friendly people
We are always a friendly people
We are fools living in a fool's paradise
With the sun out and the breeze so nice

An Anarchist Call Card

I wonder who pulls the anarchist's strings
We all serve a higher purpose, am told

And the politicians of the day 
Well, are not who I worry about for now 

We all know their ways are wrong 
As are their motivations on corrupt virtues 

Though for the ignorance and arrogance 
Of t' rebels with false strength, I am left at a loss 

(influential groups none ever so independent, 
tied to their source of finance ) I cannot overlook.

Confused as to who is behind the curtains
Pulling their strings on agenda, they gather 

Did we not see Libya fall to the hands
Of the anarchist, in the Arab spring

Only to become a failed state
Where no man, woman or child is safe

From the cut throat knives of the ISIS
Iraq and Syria stand as hostage, ransom is t' dead

Gaddafi and Saddam Hussien's ghost that haunt
Playing peeka boo with Casper the friendly ghost

To watch our confused and driven youth
Run from home to become our worse nightmare

Jihad John with an accent so familiar
Cutting heads like it is a fun day in the park

If the blind leads the blind, blindfolded
What good is the cries of another blind man 

Insisting on leading the blinded sheep. 
You fool, #Philosophy #politics #life 

I wonder who pulls the anarchist's strings
Are we ever so prepared for their rule.

On Church Grounds

The more churches I see
The more morally corrupt
Society seems to be

A few good men left
Quickly turning into
No  good men in this town

Is it so cheap now to confess
And have our sins forgiven
I ask

Void is flagellation
As a sign of penance to give
#philosophy #life #society #religion

Bless me father for I have sinned
Replaced with cash and carry
Blessing and sins on barter trade

The richest is the most holiest
And highly morally corrupt
Blurred lines all in the grey

Schematics
No one is looking that close
To see blemish on white canvas

It is all clock works
Days into night
ORANGE.

The (in)dependence of Ghana

Denounce the government and embrace the flag‪ #‎wendellberry‬.
‎
The politics, ‬ independence is a scam, all politicians are the same. We are in debt, but I owed no man, I borrowed no money, I sleep in the darkness but I paid all my bills. My pipes lie empty, I am forced to drink from plastic bags. The Doctor is in on the scam too; he's is no longer a noble cause, he writes prescriptions as a way of extorting money from the sick and vulnerable, then kills me dead on negligence, no recourse no one is held liable. 

There is no blood at the hospitals, even though Jehovah witness are refusing blood, we are all selfish to give, though even after giving, storage becomes a problem. There is no air in the oxygen cylinder, watch me chocking dead. The medical stores are all on fire and the last remaining salvaged drugs are expired, being forced down my throat.

 The condoms imported are too small for the African size, they rip off, thorn to shreds at the first thrust, and so I am left with a scare.

Our institutions are inactive, the country is run by sleeping sheep. The upper class are all foreigners living in gated communities, entered only by invitation strictly by invitation. The high end restaurants and hotels will not have me for being a second class citizen. 

My roads are dusty red, dust covers my throat I am a Martian to be from Mars the red planet. Our farmers are under attack, Monsanto wants to play God to kill all our seeds and starve us dead, so the west can show us on TV begging for charity "please sir, give me some more sir". But how can I blame the West, it's a dog eat dog world and we beg to be eaten. 

Denounce the government, embrace the flag, find your patriotism and stand for a cause, for politicians are all scam, in it just for themselves. ‪#‎Ghana‬‪#‎Africa‬ thinking out loud it's about time.

Tribal Wars

Tribal wars
Drums heard from a distance  

Language of another 
Tribal marks, the enemy is near  

An enemy, for you are different 
By tongue and language 

Tribal wars 
Skin color so deep 

Hair and eyes, size 
Sentiment of the paranoia 

Fear from old folktales 
They eat babes alive, alive I say 

I will bring down your house 
I will seize your love 

And bury you as an enemy 
For we are from different clans 

Tribal wars 
Tribal wars 

But save me when I am on my knees 
And I will be grateful 

It would be a deed as humanity 
And I will be grateful 

So long as you do not enter my house 
And be friends with my kind 

A stranger will be more welcome 
Than a neighbor

In my house, men from foreign lands we welcome 
But not you; tribal wars, tribal wars a neighbor 

Who stands to gain 
From insistence on valuing our differences 

History says we were once brothers 
History says we are sworn enemies 

Tribal wars 
Tribal wars 

Who is speaking my language 
Who's am I speaking 

Eyes, and size 
Skin color so deep 

Tribal wars 

Ghana's Independence; a satire

The fool finds pleasure 
In celebrating illusion and refuse to wake 

Like thinking the world 
Is no longer connected by wires 

Many of which runs on the floor 
Of the deep blue sea, lets accept miracles 

But of cause we would, magic to embrace 
We would want it that way, detached from reality 

Reality is a pill hard to swallow 
And for the kid that hates medicine 

Crushing the pills into his drink  
Works the magic, the fool with illusion 

A zombie nation, continent, where all that matters 
Are foreign owned, yet we declare independence

I would cry but I am not with enough tears 
To bail, this bankrupt nation of it's woes  

To say freedom is ours to choose 
Only a fool would be blind to the chains 

Worse is we beg for these chains 
On all four, we beg and beg 

And beg some more, for weights so heavy 
It cripples us, that is where we find comfort 

An excuse to shout victimization 
Seeking attention from the very people we accuse 

A nation is like a house, I say, an analogy 
With it's living room forming the capital 

Accra would hold that honor  
Shameful, smelly, polluted Accra, our living room

Our living room, where we host our guest 
And say, welcome to my beautiful country 

Just don't look past the air-conditioned tinted glasses
To the foreign owned hotel we will take you to rest  

To be hosted in our foreign funded and built 
Presidential palace, and our western suit in hot weather 

The middle class youth with ignorance and two phones, self-worth 
Attached to ipads like their lives depends on it, enslaved 

Yet failing to make good use of it, opportunity 
To educate their mindset about their environment 

Forgive me, I forgot to mention 
We are celebrating our independence 

With the loan money you just gave us 
Come, come you are invited as our guest, special privilege    

Come and drink and merry make 
Help us celebrate our independence from you 

Tomorrow we will be with our beggars bowl 
At your door step, bright and early for more handouts 

For we are an independent nation 
Magic and illusion, miracles we adore

Freedom and justice is a bore 
Mind over matter, it matters not, it is all bore 

The puppet house

Knock knock  
Who lives in the puppet's house 

There are no institutions or organisations 
Be it religion or government 

Strong and powerful enough 
To fight or oppress us 

If we realise that, all there is 
Is greedy, corrupt and selfish individuals 

Working as one in human establishments 
Given resources, directly or indirectly financed by us 

And elaborate acronyms to match  
 (NSA, CIA, FBI, al-Qaeda, Boko haram) 

All engineered to scare the masses 
They are never more in numbers 

Than the oppressed majority 
Hiding from fear, of false assumptions  

Enlightenment is a realisation 
A realisation is an awakening 

An awakening is the revolution  
Are you still hiding from fear  

Knock knock 
Who lives in the puppet's house 

Who lives in the puppet's house 
Singing "kombaya my lord is coming" 

Mandela Madiba Nelson

Do we cry or do we smile 
Do we breathe a sigh of relief 

Or are we to be with sorrow 
For an old tree has fallen in the forest 

Do we cry with joy to celebrate his life
Or do we cry with sadness for what awaits 

The forest has been shrinking 
Lets all admit it, this old ground was once so green 

Fewer and fewer of the old trees stand 
Fewer would even claim their own roots 

Madiba was an old tree, a great one
A giant of a tree in this shrinking forest 

Unfortunately as we stand in agony it is the chainsaws 
That w'ld organize his funeral and be the chief mooners 

Shedding crocodile tears for his passing 
All in a rush to go plundering and looting  

No longer would the old mahogany tree 
Protect these seedlings so vulnerable  

The chainsaw can be heard roaring, hyenas laugh 
Ready to lay carnage on the land 

The grave robbers are no longer strangers, they are family
They have been camping for so long in wait 

But as tradition demands, last respect, last rites 
We will all close our eyes and shed tears 

I leave it to you if yours is of sadness 
Or that of joy, I leave it to you  

Madiba will have his last right 
But do not cry crocodile tears on his grave 

If all I can do is plead 
I plead with thee, do not coward his grave 

For Madiba shared 
Only but a genuine smile 

An Enemy Within, Our heroes never reached home

I was told to look out of the window
Keep looking south, friend
Our brothers and sisters that went to war
Are on their way back with victory

They have defeated the old enemy
And so we need not worry no more
Not ever again on this land 
Richly blessed our forefather's left us 

They were spotted in a distance
Crossing the rivers that stands
Tall next to our land the whole stretch
That means they are already home

For the river is on our land
The Gate way to the village
Yet it has been days now
No one has heard word from them

The celebratory drums has been played
It has been beaten hard to tiredness
With holes in its heart bleeding
Begging a reprieve for sight of our heroes

Cannibalistic manners being portrayed
Our leaders have betrayed us 
On all political front and civil heads follow
Both the right and left and those inbetween 

They ambushed and ate the flesh 
Of the sore wounds of our fighters 
Like maggots with greed hunger  
And corrupt deeds that leaves our land dry

The land as a skeleton without flesh
Stripping in a frenzy the very structures
That holds sanctity and value of our people
Our heroes never reached home

The enemy was not that which we conquered
When the river sits on our land once so rich
Yet we starve of thirst and import
From our distant neighbors fish and food

We are no longer able to raise our flags
That once glow through the night
And made us gods of the night
We sit in darkness, our leaders sold it all out

They sold a half piece of the material
The one so precious that holds our soul 
Now when we raise our spirit flags
It no longer shines in the dark

They sold it all for greed, an enemy within
Our leaders are cannibalistic in nature
Pillaging the land dry for greed
An enemy within, our heroes never came home

The Hunger Game

We sat in the living room in Dansoman 
A suburb of Accra, curtains all drawn down
To keep the uninvited happy sunny face, locked out 
This was no a time for jokes or playful games 

Us young and worrying 
If we worried as kids 
Then mother must have had heavy 
The weight of the world on her shoulders 

To carry the love and protection 
Of her four kids like mother hen 
With no corn harvest to pick on 
Cracked dry was the land, infested with hunger 

Rationing was an art work 
No one was above size ten to flaunt 
And ten would have been fat with affluence 
Or privileged with mystery of gain, mystery of gain 

Early sleep, to wake early at 4 am on queue lines 
Long for the water that cooked the kenkey 
To have the kenkey was a privilege so few
Could afford, if luck had them reach there in time 

Rawlings chain was the jewelry of the neck bone exposed 
Both the young and old wore to show and tell 
As statements of the state of affairs in the country 
Yellow corn and wheat was what was known 

Gari should be made a national treasure in Ghana 
Beans was all the protein one could get 
We hunted the fruit trees to make up the difference 
Hunger always asked his stomach to be belly fully paid 

We became expert tree climbers 
Hanging on the last branch a stretch 
To harvest and pull the bounty it held 
There are tricks to these things 

Ways of getting around climb 
If you know how to throw on targets 
And be quick to get your harvest 
Before eagle eyes that hover gains ground 

This was the hunger game, not Hollywood  
Script with fancy actors pretending to starve
With luxury trailer caravans to return to 
After the director shouts, cut! its a wrap 

We lived in the pulled down curtain era 
Of the 80's where the sun came out 
But for energy preservation of the little food ate 
The kids were not seen out playing 

We played the hunger game in the 80's 
Before today's fast food joints and wasted resources 
I wonder with the world population inflating so fast 
Would we be playing the hunger game again 

In this generation or the next, who is to tell 
Global village it seems brings global consumerism 
And global warming follows suit, global troubles 
Will we be playing the hunger game again so soon 

Who holds the keys to the farmhouse door 
Will it stay opened or locked by the owner to privilege a few 
Is there enough food in storage for tomorrow's demand 
Who holds the keys to the farmhouse, is this the hunger game 

The hunger game.

Democracy, democrazy; let my vote count

When my words are asked in demand 
When my hands are requested on alliance 
When my legs are borrowed for support 

To walk this journey 
To stand this ground 
To pledge an alliance 

Where my stakes do count, thumbprint 
Where a queue means possible change 
Where my presence has effect, dominoes  

And the puppet masters need me now, to pull strings 
And I am made a king maker with cast 
And I am thus destiny onto them as will 

Will I know what to priorities 
Will I know what my interest are 
Will I be wise enough to know in essence 

That the table has turned, favored positions 
That the value is on me, precious 
That I am with vote, a commodity sort  for 

A bargaining chip, to state my need 
An upper hand on chess game, to win a post 
A trading ground, a barter trade, for fair trade my interest 

Or will I just follow party politics 
Waving flags as my interest pledge, banners barmy 
To say it is them against us, foolishly with protest 

Two brothers on opposing sides 
Who is to build our father's house 
To say it is them against us, foolishly on stands taken 

Following party politics, Montague against Capulet  
Let my vote count, so not to demonstrate craziness 
As mine democrazy, my interest is to be seen to as mine 

Who owns the dollhouse

I  just learnt of an important trend 
I just observed an underlining current 

Not that it matters, as it were, smoke screens 
But it matters most to a degree, as it were

Above the norm to be expected, as it were 
It really matters in circles, realms of the high 

Between the powers that be, strings to ropes 
And how the weathers play, as it were 

It matters most, when spotted 
And assigned a scrutiny, "assigned as it were" 

It warns one, in such subtle terms, as it were 
Larking with innocence pretend no physical form 

"I have got k9 teeth, a set full, dog shape, but I wouldn't bite 
Just for show, this is, to show and tell,  just so you know" 

Until that is, it is needed, as it were 
To show and tell, show and tell 

I just learnt of an important trend 
I just observed an underlining current 

I just realized we are in a puppet house, as it were 
With invisible strings being pulled on acts  

I just realized we are all puppets in play  
I just observed an important trend 

Strings on my shoulders 
Jerking my arms, pulling my legs 

I just waked up in a puppet house 
Surrounded by familiar faces with smile 

Yet all puppets in play, strings attached

Who owns the dollhouse,

Unveiling the smoke screen 
We live in a puppet house, a dollhouse 

Imprisoned, the life of modernity

I am a painter 
Or at least I try to be one 

A world renowned painter 
I am to be known for my works of art 

Indeed I am a painter 
Gifted an eye to see structured colours 

Though I feel my hands are tied 
Roped strung and bound firm in bondage 

To look on, onto canvas 
Calling out, with edge to display 

I am a caged beast 
A lion from the far lands, eastern hills 

Where the mountains gave way 
To giants of men who walk with confidence 

Conquered all and placed flags of honour 
I saw them as nothing more than mole hill 

I am god sent 
But just as a mere mortal  

To die, perish one day 
As proof of my mortality as human  

With visions of god sent 
Gifted to weave words into meaning 

A creative art as parable 
Allowing an underlying current to flow 

Testing the wisdom of wise-men 
To interpret concepts laid to adopt 

I am an engineer
Hanging on spinning wheels 

Adjusting and twisting nuts 
Bolts to positions fixed 

To accelerate motion 
Steam engine trains on rails 

But sometimes I drop my spanner 
Into the depths of clogged machinery 

I am a travelling man 
A voyager from distance lands 

Each step a testimony of my resolve 
Each voyage a proof of my blessed deed 

Though sometimes I feel my hands are tied 
Roped strung and bound firm in bondage 

I am an artist of sorts 
No less in regard 

A canvas sits empty before me 
Brushes and paint colours line up in jars 

Visions lay plentiful in my head  to share 
A beautiful master piece awaits the light of day

Though I feel my hands are tied 
Roped strung and bound firm in bondage 

The prayer then that 
The gods will hear us today 

I pray tomorrow, the gods come back with grace 
I pray tomorrow my hands are set free again 

To paint modernity on these lands 
And see it manifest into reality 

Setting free minds that lay conservative  
Imprisoned in their own built up cages 

I am a painter of words 
Watch meaning unfold, or at least I try to be 

Starving the grounds that requires

Wishing wells, full to the brim 
Buckets with long strings attached 

Queue of mankind, a stretch this far 
Each with their own needs, needy require 

A bucket full, fetched each time 
A distance walked, to store gifted load 

Habits, as are the greed of mankind 
Always carrying a load too much, for actual need 

Overflowing and to the earth that wants none 
It pours and not to the grounds that requires 

Waste of resource, starving others, none to have
While stocking up aqua, for tomorrows rain 

This is the culture of our civilization 
Where charity is given on pretense of help 

While global trade is kidnapped and held to ransom 
By a few, well to do, asking for more to their name 

To the brim of pouring bucket loads  
On the face of the earth that needs none  

Surpluses, and reservations, stocking up 
With piecemeal, given as handouts to the needy 

In the name of charity, as a helping hand they give 
To say this is help, cooperative charity with noble intentions 

Who took the fetching bucket away from the well 
Who greedily took the fetching bucket home  

Starving the grounds that requires 
Holding humanity to ransom 

Pictures by: http://art-for-a-change.com/blog/

Independence Day; The big six

I am to travel to a place called home 
Take flight or grow wings, paper plane

Through time travel on invented machines 
I am to journey to a place in time, sankofa 

To a spot, a date in time, as time stands  
To be a witness to a phase in time, ceremonies 

A paradigm shift, on liberation's stage 
A place in time, set to establish my blue print 

I am to travel to a place, where in time 
My forefathers defined my destiny, forward ever 

On this day, in time, this place in time 
When time made prominence, on my landed paradise 

Six decades back in time, to this very day in time 
To see; witness the change of guards, in time 

We are as old now, wisdom is ushered  
Through the passage of time, lessons from life 

Experience bares the fruits of our struggles 
To a time, a place in time, to be as wise now  

So I ask, as we lift flag banners to celebrate 
Will the big six, find solace in these times 

Invited as special guests to witness our strive 
Will the big six shake hands with today's guardians 

And say ayikoo, ayikoo and when you hear 
The cock crow in the morning ayikoo  

It should not be in postures, as a political satire 
To say "Freedom freedom, Ghana is free for ever"