Dry Lands In June
Sometimes the rains do not come in June
Sometimes in June, darkness comes at noon
The earth comes very dry
And the inhabitants wonder why
The flowers begin to wither
Life becomes bitter
Lord, the scorn is so unusual
For yam and corn are no more visual
Father, raise up your mighty hand
And quench the thirst of the land
Remove any hand of iniquity
And bring back the integrity
Put a stop to whatever caused this death
So that the plants may recover their birth
We pray that we would never see such destructions
And restore June as a month of great expectations
poem by Mark Nyamekye Boadi
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Her Rejoicing Day
Never did she ever imagine
That she would see that day
When she had a delightful present
A gift that has come to stay
She did not expect
That this would ever occur
She gave up hoping
But luck has found her
It is her day to rejoice
For she has waited for so many years
The Lord has heard her cries
So she wipes her tears
It is her day to rejoice
For she now has her own baby
She shouts with joy
And joins the society as a Lady
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poem by Mark Nyamekye Boadi
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Wet Lands In June
It is June and the skies are charging
With thunder and clouds full of water
We see the restoration of a normal beginning
Indeed God has made us a wonder
The earth is wet, the flowers are in full bloom
Giving way to new fruits
Yam and corn are enough to consume
And water washing down to their roots
The inhabitants now make merry
Their cries have ceased
For there are so many crops to carry
Harvests have again increased
The thirst of the land has been quenched by the rain
Giving us a shift from death to birth
Our cries to the Lord were not in vain
And he has provided us with much mirth
Come lets rejoice, for the hand of iniquity has been removed
Our integrity has been reinstated
Because living conditions on our farms has improved
The answer to prayers long awaited
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poem by Mark Nyamekye Boadi
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The house she refers to
She first told me of this house when I was a child
She wrote it in her documents and filed
A house so wild
Where the people are very cold
A house like a wrestling hold
Everyone scrambling for gold
There are murmurs and calls for hate
Which spreads amongst the offspring they procreate
To go and lie in wait
Until they receive orders to fire
At anyone who aims higher
So that they get what they require
She documents a house of takers
Wanting to acquire acres
Which they are not the makers
She documents a house of doom
Where deception is a costume
And aversion is spread from a control room
She documents a house of pain
Where there is nothing to gain
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poem by Mark Nyamekye Boadi
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Birds Who Sing The Same Song
Once upon the hunter's lifetime
He entered the forest with his hound
As he waited for animal senses,
He heard the same sound
The sound came from above
It was the sound of birds
Though they were very different,
They had similar words
The birds were of two colors
They were either brown or green
They sang on top of their voices
The song of a queen
First, the hunter watched them sing
He did not understand the words
He set a trap on the tree
And caught some green birds
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poem by Mark Nyamekye Boadi
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