By Sundong Abdul-Korah

Strategically perched on the shores of great Atlantic
And possessing all the powers of imperial Rome
Oh how I wish I could spend time congratulating all
Who deserved to be born on its flavoured soil
Ak’ra, so endowed with the seeds of heavenly virtues
Embracing all, even foreigners, who come without merit
See sea surfs soothing over sour souls

Unfortunately I must leave this favoured land
Savannahforest, where I was born, summons me away
For an ancestral home needs our presence and tears
I’ll travel by water because our roads are bloody
Littered by limbs, lumps and brains
For tired and drunken drivers soon lapse into coma

Hear me great Ak’ra, mother of angels and gods
May your stool thicken; May your broom thicken
I beg for pardon as I bid farewell
I offer sacrifice in words garbled by tears
But I can no longer endure your generous miseries
Ah, your temples which used to draw heaven closer
Are now contempteous and disgusting
And worshippers pass by as accident victims lie crumbled
Yes, near the Holy Gates of St Peter!

I see treated water too gushing
Just to bath worthless glorified gardens of His Majesty
As ragged urchins with thirsty gallons cry of thirst
And careless drivers zoom past splitting these helpless souls
Only to escape into temples again to sing Hosanna
Goodbye malicious Ak’ra

At the breezing shores in the near distant mirror
Perched exploitative colonial masters in fortified castles
Who ruled rudely servile natives
Then Nkrumah and colleagues’ thunderous voices rocketed
O freedom, O independence, O self-rule now!
And matured fetuses sprang out of tired wombs
To celebrate this triumphant triumph
Bravo all great spirits who restored our native hegemony!

Then the earth shifts about its path marginally
And demonic arms suspended on evil black arms exploded
Milking babies quivered off plump breasts
Those lilac gunpowder still linger and tincture
Yet the progeny of the hazardous in our little temple
Are still cruelly dipping their manicured guilty fingers
Into the lean basket of our orphanage
Rise and tower barbarian treasures up the sky
Hurray! May the weakest storm wash them down tomorrow!
All those guilty mountains towering our skies
And blocking view of the radiant off the Heavens
Goodbye dishonest Ak’ra

Ak’ra, seat of political power
Booming with knowledge, goods and services
Where milk and honey sweep across into contented Atlantic
As orphans’ bitter lips and rumbling stomachs
Proclaim and demarcate the geography of hunger
Walled out of school, these feeble empty hands
Are set to snatch snakes and lizards for dinner
Goodbye irresponsible Ak’ra

Along the corridors of magnificent structures
Simmer amazing Beauty Pageants
Sparkling on the high table are ministers’ outlandish cloaks
Who graciously sit in as honourable judges
Then the curious wall-ghetto peeps mockingly and hysterically
And soon plunges into pungent open sewages nearby
Oh, behind these golden gates and glittering garments
Rise spiraling garbage that discomfort even madmen
Goodbye shanty Ak’ra

Markets and funerals sprouting and sprawling along streets
As hawkers and cars compete for space
Oh, how burgeoning your sweet pitiful funerals
And how disgusting your fateful famous festivals!

Right here, foreigners are excitedly selling land
To servile natives as landlords threaten tenants
Over little money yet to be lent to government
By bedeviled development partners
See this miserable artificial tilapia too from a dug up, not the sea
Yet her price twice a handsome ramp in savannahforest
Whose testacles is healthier than frozen chicken from Siberia
Goodbye fraudulent, frozen Ak’ra

Ak’ra, paramouncy of peace and justice
Yet where assailants quickly accuse victims
And get them fixed in dungeons through fixed flawed law courts
Along the shores too local fishermen in museum-longing canoes
Are driven away by sophisticated foreign ships
Which come emptying hard drugs and toxic waste
As robbers rob and rape, escaping arrest
Great Accra, shouldn’t I hurriedly bid you goodbye now?

Ak’ra, where are your proud peacock’s feathers?
Why have your virtues suddenly gone bald
Like the vulture’s forehead?
These powerful beggars you plant along crowded streets
Who curse saints and disciples for offering little alms
Don’t you know your onions are forced into bulging bulbs
By the sweat and blood of the blind in savannahforest?
And these clergymen who chant unceasingly in architectural triumphs
Notoriously collecting collections on behalf of the poor
Only to ride in Mercedes Benz and make them cry
Where are your synagogues in richly poor savannahforest!

Here comes another generous Saturday distributing wedding rings
But all too soon weep crowded Monday divorce courts
Yet pretty girls still go borrowing silver skirts
Only for disgusting men to lift them with fake notes
Hear the notorious polygamist’s cry of loneliness
Oh, to disgruntled harlots!

Proud kingdom, yesterday we witnessed the crowning of your King
And the bees vowed never to brew honey for crocodiles
Even the frogs also swore to crawl on the King’s mat!
Ak’ra, have your gods forgotten the way to heaven?

To the civil pensioner meagre pension
And often after his demise
To the political pensioner Jupiter
And all its glittering eleven moons!
Can’t you hear the tree branches grumbling in the wind?
For order has become perfectly disorderly
And truth fractured by so many limping facts
That’s why your prisons smell of disease and death
And your coffins which are hewn into beautiful shapes
Will soon be lowered to rest on skeletons

Ak’ra, capital of democracy
Yet where democratic claws cut deepest
Where naked laundrymen are tasked daily
To flatten a thousand crumbled fabrics a day
To be worn by double-dealing demo-crazes and politi-cons
Why won’t bribed electorate change sides for cheap wine?
On sale: one people one parliament!

Robber of Cape Coast, where vile mounts and shines
Where zealous souls come shouting callously
All die be die! All die be closing eyes!
Yet their kraal and tails have long crossed the Indian Ocean
Where ‘all die be die’ is but foolish talk
Where leadership is about self-killing, never a citizen’s killing
And where the death of one monkey fetches oceanic tears
Goodbye robbers!

My favourite city has relaxed her firm embrace
And my native land is glad to receive me
Slowly my feet is crossing the treacherous threshold
Pitiful city, may your wounds close and heal
Surrounded by failure and a longing for prosperity
May your progeny be enriched by all ancestral losses
May your purse prudently thicken
You’re strong because you can learn from misfortune
Even the stars must set before they rise again
Rememeber the moon wanes before it waxes
Hear me beautiful city in coma
Quickly, you must revive and blossom

Miles away I can hear the melodious xylophones
Along with the synchronized feet of skilful dancers
In readiness to embrace the lost prince

Old friend, looming over you is grandeur
Over La, Chorkor, Nima before flamboyant East Legon
Accra, will you remember me as I say goodbye?
Savannaforest, will you dare drape gunpowder
Over my gentle innocent face
And turn to God with a broad smile?