Rude Boy Begs his brother MR P to come Back As he play their old songs

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Efua Sutherland: The Marriage of Anansewa,The Wedlock of the gods By Zulu Sofola, The gods Are Not

Raider of the Treasure Trove By Lade Worsonu

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    “Raider of the Treasure Trove”   -         Lade Worsonu   But what can be worthy of your life? What dearest than the gems of your dreams, The reason you are here? Always strive To fly flags of joy, and sail up streams Powered by the breeze of love, your course Chartered in the ink of compassion And, fling roses wherever you pause Heaven-on-earth your destination   Of things which blot out that brief Or breach your sails with arrows unseen; No! Rob you of your life, rage is Chief Rage drags rags after you.   Of charity Laughter, sweetness and light, rage is thief Enemy of equanimity, Rage spreads toxic fumes on every scene In essence, rage spells calamity.   It’s sole cause? Your perception of storms Breaking around not upon, your head. There are neither snakes deviants, nor norms: As you think, so you feel.   Watch your mind. Rage sets sail.   Can ruin lag far behind?   I’ll fling roses wherever I berth My destination is heaven-
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The Song of the Women of My Land By Oumar Farouk Sesay

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    “The Song of the Women of My Land”   -Oumar Farouk Sesay         Like a sculptor  chipping away at bits of wood     Time chisels away bits of their memory       It strips away Lyrics  of the song of the women of my land     Leaving only a fading tune echoing the song         They sang in the forlorn fields     About their lives; songs     Of how they ploughed the terrain of their  minds-cape     For memories of Lyrics  lost in the vast void of time     In those days when a song beheld their lives:     When servitude cuffed the ankles of their souls,     And dereliction decapitated the epic of their lives.       With a song, they sponged off their anguish,     To behold their collective pains,     To celebrate their gains,     Give Lyrics  to the tune of their lives,     Cheat the tyrant of time,     And commune with yet unborn     To give meaning to an epoch lost of antiquity,       Yet time strips the Lyrics  and scars the tune,
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The Grieved Lands By Agostiho Netohttps://www.googletagmanager.com/gtag/js?id=AW-10904630286AW-10904630286/XrxkCJV-r54YE1703c80gtag('config',-'AW-10904630286')conversionidAW-10904630286

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  “The Grieved Lands” -Agostinho Neto   The grieved lands of Africa In the tearful woes of ancient and modern slave In the degrading sweet of impure dance Of other seas Grieved   The grieved lands of Africa In the infamous sensation of the stunning Perfume of the Flower Crushed in the forest By the wickedness of iron and fire The grieved lands The grieved lands of Africa In the dream soon undone in jingling of Gaolers’ keys And in the unconscious brilliance of hidden Sensations And in the stifled laughter and victorious voice Of lament Of the grieved lands of Africa   Alive In themselves and with us alive They bubble up in dreams Decked with dances by Baobabs over balances By the antelope In the perpetual alliance of everything that lives   They shout out the sound of life Shout it Even the corpses thrown up by the Atlantic In putrid offering of incoherence And death and in the clearness Of rivers   They live
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