A day’s fit in the pit
Is a life filled with precious carats of it
A day’s periled risk inside the pit
Is a life milled to the full with golden mints
A day’s willed strength
expended in the depth of it
Is a life filled with milk and honey
Even for filth, guilt and money
As death stares
Death scares none
As death looms
Looters dare to loot
When death stretches a hand
Only the coward stretches a hand of fear
When the gravedigger lowers limbs and whole
Into a pitch dark hole
Deep where the coward trembles with fear
Death stirs up a tear
But the gold digger stirs up no fear
No tears
Truth
The seeping Mercury foams in the broth
Yeah!
Was it not worth more than nothing we had?
The corroding Cyanide froths at the top
Well?
Was it not better than that pinching poverty?
Was it not better than those hungry yawning episodes?
II
With forest reserves dedicated to greedy hands
With greedy hands aimed at arable lands
With arable lands reduced to bare barren lands
With blood and dirt on your greedy hands
You will never get to spend the gold
III
In the fields far off
The greens give us some fresh to inhale
The greens give us some berries to nibble
The greens give us some days of rain
In the fields far off
In the fields near enough
The greens get in the way
So the greens give way
The browns get a field day
In the fields not far off
IV
With Birem brewed to the brim from a muddy mess
With Ankobra bracing up for more digging craziness
With Pra praying for some watery purity
With blood and mud on your hands
You will never get to spend the gold
With Tano contaminated beyond reaching the taps
With Densu and Subin struggling to supply nsu to thirsty throats
With Oti and Offin overwhelmed with impurities
With blood and guilt…and silt on your hands
You will never get to spend the gold
The post Poetry Corner: A Harvest of Mayhem appeared first on The Business & Financial Times.
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