THE 4TH SECRET OF J.J

I WAS TOLD JUNE 4TH WAS A NATIONAL DISASTER,

ONLY TO GROW AND REALIZE HE IS HUMAN RATHER,

A SELFLESS HOUSE CLEANER.

Had I the chance to enforce my stands,

I'd dance till everyone understands,

And would proclaim a period of enlightenment,

That our historians failed to document;

The hidden secret of Parliament,

Which hid from us the sacred monument,

That birthed the bouncy baby of 4th June,

Who took blame and a bitter fortune,

And vaccinated the castle for us all to be immune.

Yet, does immunity connote dancing to every tune?

What is the need for a "demo" with no one to see?

Is there a weed at all if all plants are useful by Mr Bee?

An answer is our only youthful plea,

And further expiations if need be,

Should we hail our democracy at sea?

Since the contractor doesn't trust his carnal sense of judgement,

He uses the Spirit Level in ensuring accurate alignment.

But the mason who fails to employ quality material,

Only meets clients with the pocket of an actuarial.

Ghana, our beloved country is free forever!

Only stays with those who still remember,

And not those who disregard the latter.

Since then, have we grown any stronger?

Because they believe in their doubts,

Always questioning our Freedom shouts,

Enviously finger pointing those who shed blood,

Which is now the palmy they rather flood.

Our education is free forever!

Our resources are ours together,

Our land is our settlement eternal,

Our jobs are abundant perennial.

Many more proclamations I call euphemistic,

With nothing tangible nor dreams futuristic,

Waiting to take disasters keenly opportunistic,

And making campaigns out of a common pandemic,

With names suggesting to be Patriotic,

Others accolade themselves as Democratic,

Bombarding us with manifestos in our premises,

And decorating our streets with poetic promises.

It's of no use changing names without changing hearts.

Are elections necessary if parties are armed with darts?

With politicians raiding our media with armour carts,

Citizens queue up for kenkey and waakye as well as ID cards,

No more Media freedom in our own orchards.

I see an upsurge in mature minds,

Different from the revolutionary kinds.

But mustn't we foster tranquillity as this year rescinds?

In you did Nkrumah and June 4th confide,

And you have election 2020 to decide,

Whatever choice we make, in Ghana we all reside.

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RFFS PRAYER

Anytime I'm called for duty... Wherever deployment takes me, Pervert from my path, any mutiny... But give me the strength to be; The rescuer, the protector and the fire fighter. Whenever I'm gone for stand by... Lord, grant me a listening watch. All incursions, hazards and risks, May I with my crew identify... Where unavoidable, enable us to mitigate.. Be it in the terminal, tarmac or boarding gate.. Should there ever be an emergency, Wherever fire may rage.. Should there be any shout, No matter the skin or age.. Help me put the fire out, And my neighbor, help me save. And if by your will... Any blood may spill... Leading to any fatality, Protect my wife and kids, And preserve the rest of my crew.

THE BLISS of STRIFE

This is the lottery of life, That a lot of men, Tend not to see as an Omen, Full of bliss but only strife. We either get to long live, Or soon forced to leave. Be lucky to be born, Or remain a spirit borne. But no matter how you came to exist, There’s only one way to exit. Through the tunnel of death, Whether neat or with dirt. So just in case you are here, And you have some fruit to bear, Let us get to taste you in due time. Whether sweet or as sour as lime. Breathe in more air, But in your heart, do not err. Enjoy life as a sweet aroma to smell, But for your sake, let no one else yell. Anytime you are angry, Just assume you’re hungry. Seek the bread of life if you can. Because vain life is just an empty can.

FALLEN ANGELS

Most often than not, Heroes do fade with their names unsung. But the shadows of their past, And the candles we light all night, Can at least serve as lyrics, To compose for their departed souls, A new song for us to be consoled. Patriots they’re now called, As dirty politics has now stalled. For once at most, We all agree to a toast, In solemnity and not at the bar, That this life is by far, An expedition with a divine illusion. Yes indeed they were; Heroes as we now call them. Not because it sounds like an anthem, But for the national emblem, They did responsibly revere. Was it the natural order? Is it because someone failed to bother? Was it their time? Are the questions we continue to mime. But will the answer save us a dime, As a nation in her own prime? Let the eight angels fly high, As families make a thirst quenching sigh, And create for them a legacy in perpetuity. For if we seek another opportunity, And let these men go forgotten, There shall be no more fallen angles from...

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