THIS IS OUR LAND
(Song Of A Native Son)

This divine song of our Tano
And of the mystic hymns of Nile
Have never soften my feet from dancing.
The songs in the rhythms of Adowa,
Of Kete, Kpanlogo, Borborbor, Adgbadza
Have kept me to this fate of a hunter.
I,
In lonesome night
Hunts with a single arrow
Killing wild falcons;
Slaying talons of evilmen
Under the Mighty Oyina.

They say,
This land is of our Masters
That we are mere transient papers
For examinations and certifications.
I looked into the eyes of the Eagle
And hearing flustering calls from the Ancestral-land
I,
Hit my chest with cowries
Shouting till Tutu and Aggrey
Return from Exile…

For, we, bladders of Anokye
We, the claws of Amenfi
We, the sons of Kushi and Agorkoli
Are ourselves reincarnated!
We are the sons of Tohazie
We are the ancient gizzards of Ndewura Jakpa
We are the daughters of Asantewaa
But couldn’t Shaka’s Zulu not have redefined divination?

An,
Enemy has defiled this land
He has poisoned our lakes with Cyanide
Our,
Enemies have infiltrated the shrines
They have spilled excrement to cover the Gods
They lay in helpless solitude
of sanctuaries defiled before harmattan.

They say;
This land is of Barbarians
A land of clowns and cowards
A land where gold is in abundance
Yet we love to worship Whiskey
And castrated Cigarette smokes
That it is in the cup of-Modernity
We ought to intoxicate to folly
That it is in the eyes of the Roman-god
We ought to purify our hearts as Saints
But I ask the winds and the towering sea
Are we not the sons of Oburumankoma
Are we not the brave hearts of Tweneboah Kodua and Agya Ahor?

I,
Weep of Bloody Demagogues
Who oil our drums with lies
I,
Cry of Flying Bullets
Which sing of Midnight coup de’tat in Faso’
I, the son of Tafari’s Abyssinia
Where the songs of Resistance keeps a stare
I, the Grand-son of Musa’s Timbucktu
Where wealth keeps riddles as vows
I, the Grand-saliva of Sunni Ali’s Gao in far away Songhai
I, the son of Freedom not of Justice
Where Kwame declares with tears in 1957
Weep of falling volcanoes…

This land is ours’
Brethren, this vast land of Empires
This land of beautiful lizards
A land where the Savanna breastfeeds the Sahara with dews
It is the land where
We,
Shall go and return through the eyes of Kwasamba..

Let this song reach the wet bird
Let this song rhyme on uneven lenses
That someday, before miles shorten…
I, am the native son
The son of Aselfi
whose liver milks the sun
And dances to the chants of the sea
Shall come home from the mind of battle
Reminding these marked imprints that
I am the seed of this land.

© Nana Arhin Tsiwah