chrisk.art.blog

My land, our mother’s land

Is in siege laid by china man

Aided by heartless sons of the land

Sitting under the tutelage of jubilee house.

Their ambition it is but mines

Mindless what tomorrow holds.

Pra lay here looking yellow-brown

Ofin is lying belly wise, pregnant with cyanide.

Virgin lands in the wicked mercy of dynamites

so, as the plants, wither by the riverside.

At peril is the revelling Tetteh Quarshie’s pods

I fear for the future.

I hear the blood of Captain,

the lamb weeping and bellowing

from the stain grounds of Denkyira-Obuasi

Not for vengeance but for an end to galamsey.

For not six feet lay slain its master for the hoax of a war!

Stunt of a war brought to the door steps

Of illegal miners by they that mine illegal

Fuelled by hungry bearers of the mic and cameras

Excavators fled; chin fans burnt. Then what?

Galamsey won, for party so hia sika

but the battle remains the lord’s

the predator becomes the prey.

If your greedy ways go unimpeached,

Nature will renege on us.