Stones In My Pocket

by George Kofi Sukah Anyidoho

During  creation, African  leaders  were  not  just  created  
but  they  lost  the  breath  of  God. 
A   governance   full   of  death. 
Amazonia,  a  boy, 12years  said; 
when  his  land, ABOR, 
a  village   in  the  tropical  woods of Africa  
couldn't  even  get  mud  to  eat,  
political   leaders  were  saints in  luxury. 
This is  the  land, ABOR, where I  was  born. 
I am  living  at  the  stream  opposite  
where  Amazonia's untimely  death  occurred.
Why  must  he  die  so  young?
Why  must  he  die  undiscovered  and  uncelebrated?
This  thing;  they  call  a  stream  
had  only  stones, rocks  and  mountains. 
Why   must  they  even  call   a  stream? 
I  keep  on  asking  myself. 
Why  people  have  many  deadly  unanswered  questions?
Over  the past  decade, nothing  like  a  drop  of  sweat  
was  seen   in  this   thing; they  call  a  stream.
What  is  most  disturbing  is;  
no  political  leader  or  personality  
wish  to  come  to  this  site.
Why? I  keep  on  asking  myself.
Where  is  their  sense  of  love? 
Where  is  their  heart  to  feel  what  the  victims  feel? 
Where  is  their  eyes  to  see,  to  witness  the  pains,  
the  tears  and  death  as  Amazonia?
Where  is  their  propaganda  to  make  vows, 
promises  and  build  a  tomb  for  Amazonia?
I   have  seen  the   earth  quaking  angrily  
and  the  sea  groans  in  pain  
anytime  I  try  to  pick  the  bones  of  Amazonia. 
Why? I  can  not  tell. 
By  a  path  believed as  a refugee for  the  dieing  souls, 
Amazonia  screamed  and  spoke  this  words;
my  thirst  is  not  their  thirst.....
where  can  I  drink? 
Not  the  sweat  on  their  body  nor  their  urine. 
At  least,  every   Friday, 
I  visit  this  scene  and  read the  words. 
I have  read  it  on  countless  occasions  
but  I  can  not  understand. Amazonia; 
you've  died  with  your   secrets. 
This  mystery  is  unknown  
but  I  will  discover  it  and  honour you  Amazonia.
As   the  words  proceeded  out  of  mouth   
then  I saw  the  whole  environment  changing. 
So  rapidly, that, I  lost  my  tongue, 
I  couldn't  think, I was  lost. 
I fell  on  my  knees. 
A  nameless  pain   so  strong  hurt  my  heart. 
I  felt  death, moving  and   lamenting. 
It was wailing  and  crying  in  different languages. 
Why, Amazonia  were   you  born into  the   land  of  wicked   mortal  beings? 
Why  must  humans  be   wicked  and  power   thirsty  
and  power  drunk  when  their  actions and  their  activities   
couldn't  buy  a  tip  of  water  to  save Amazonia? 
What  else  could  i  have  done? 
Amazonia, forgive  me. Africa,  
the  tropical  jungles  of   heartless  political  leaders. 
Where  power  thirst  for  blood  
and  government  feeds  on  its  victims.
Where   vultures  have  their  feast. 
Where  I  am  and  where  Amazonia  was. 
I  missed  a  heart  beat when  the  gun  sounded. 
Was  it  a  coup, a  rebel  attack  or  what?
I saw  blood  oozing  from  my  mouth, my heart was in pain.  
It  was   a  torture. It   was   a  suffering. 
I gave  up  the  ghost  in  tears  and  in  screams. 
As   my  blood was draining deep down  the  depth  of  the  land, 
still  thirsty  for  water...the  streams  gradually  vanished.
'Stones  in  my  pocket'  can  never  be  a  dream. 
Due  to  the  wickedness  of  African  politicans, 
I  wail  within  as  Amazonia, my  talent  is  fading  away. 
Amazonia  had  visions  but  he  died. 
This  is  still  happening...
futures leaders  are dying  but  only  the  tears...
the  street  children, the  orphans,  the  disabled,  
have  the  breath  to  understand   
the  happening  of  this  time  and  what  Death  said; 
wait  and  see,  the  death  of  a  political  figure  
and  witness  the  drinks,  the  burial  and  the  waste. 
Yesterday, I  went  to  where...this  boy died  decades  ago.
I   saw  something  like  this;
Christ  is  the  source of  my  talents  and  my  life. 
On Him  the  solid  rock  I  stand, though  I  am  dying,  
i  will  never  cast  away  my  stone, 
my  faith  and  my  kofi  sukah  anyidoho. 
I  keep  on  wondering, how  an  old  age  pensioner  read  the  words.
He  read; crys  is the source  of  my  torment  and  my  life.
On  him, the  solid  stone,  I  stand. 
Though, I am  dying  of  thirst...
I  have  a  deep  down  water  dwelling  in  me  that  is  my  tears.
Amazonia  had  a stone   in  his  pocket  before  his  death. 
Where  is  that  stone.....access  your  life! 
Where   is  your  tears? 
Don't  let  the  comfort  of  today  
compel  you  to  forget  about  your  faith, 
your  culture, your  land  and  your  people. 
Remember,  all  will  be  over  
but   the   of  Amazonia  will   live  on. 
Political  leaders  can  drink  my  blood  but  not  my  stone.

Stones In My Pocket by George Kofi Sukah Anyidoho

© Copyright 2005. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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