This story is not told from the beginning
The courage may dip before conclusion.
Another dark Wednesday dropped sand in the eyes of this nation
That which we caused,
Painting collages in every waterway
And pathway in unflinching darkness.
The rile of galamsey again this time dragged our every attention
Sifting nature through our fingers,
Fading the greens from flora that recently flourished
Mudding into very brown the blue of rivers and streams swinging across our lands
Gold is real
Nuggets of death
Have they become
Protagonists of tragedy
In the tales we now narrate at every turn of time.
Now tears gush freely from eyes with lost elasticity
Tomorrow gets blurred and vanishes from the radar like Z9
Carrying antagonists rushing against galamsey strikes
Eight souls efficient in their duties to rescue our nation
Terminated, eliminated
In a simple version of the tale
That Z9 into flames burst
To consume heroes half way into their life spans
Our faith sometimes gets tested
We ask if God ever awoke from his seventh day sleep
Events like this take us there.
If He saw it coming
A God with interminable love
Would just have snapped the helicopter on the ground before flight
Not ignore its coming fate in mid-air
Where eight gallant patriots had no ground for their feet.
We have mood to justify national wailing
Kofi Omane Boamah, son of rock, obuoba,
For you our guts are shred over and over
Into smithereens that defy enumeration.
We will not be consoled now.
Murtala Mohammed, lion of the savanna,
Our light dimmed with you departed
Darkness in our paths are back here.
We cannot find enough sand to fill this hole you left
Samuel Sarpong, sika dwa dehye
We watch you, mighty tree fall but cannot it prop back Shelter from rain or sun is neither here nor there
We strain, fruitless, chasing footsteps we deem yours Samuel Aboagye, Obuasi Oheneba
Your story just began to unfold
The roles in it that we preferred to play are lost.
We lost the nerves in our legs awaiting your coming
Muniru Mohammed, a baobab against the sleet on Damango You leave our backs bare
Sleepless nights have we been dropped in
We lost our wings on paths in the clouds
Peter Anala, eagle from the Volta
This our journey cannot continue without you
Thunder roars before us and lightning crosses our back
We cannot tell where we stand now, in the air or the sea Twum Ampadu, a log in the steps of the sun rising
Where we would go next is our dilemma
Mist has covered the face of the earth.
We are bruised badly, poison ruins our blood
Addo Mensah, the laughter is blighted on La
Our days lost the lustre you ably so knitted
And total darkness engulfed our vision
Lesions cloth our entire brains
The lure of gold
Becomes a slap in our souls
Our men
Our women
Our children
All stand at the verge of our graves Greed pilots our every move.
Oh!
The fauna would one day deplete
The water would all evaporate
When we level out
And our colours unadulterated becomes clear to us,
Would we understand that Gold to us is a curse.
Z is the last letter
Nine is the last single number
Make this the last warning
Lice are plucked to the last one
And Galamsey’s fate must be so defined
Who again must we lose
To jerk us out of the indecision
If your meal is not from its proceeds
Man,
Hammer
Them out of existence
Let the story here begin
©2025
Abeiku Sagoe
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DISCLAIMER: The Views, Comments, Opinions, Contributions and Statements made by Readers and Contributors on this platform do not necessarily represent the views or policy of Multimedia Group Limited.
