mister chairman
there be potholes on the road
and we continue to fall in them.
in which land of gold
do you see rust?
on our cars
on our schools
on our society
on our people
madam assemblywoman
spare me your piety
motorcades of panafrican discontent
to shield us from
motorcades of panafrican malcontent
of course
the malpractitioners
would call our endeavours
malpractice.
see how easy it was to equip
the helm of a dream
which allowed all those who wished to
wield it
the space and the agency
to do so
so much so
that tyrants
are engulfed in adoration
the only thing worth producing
is a surplus of lamentations
our mother has to massage
people’s feet on the beach
through the lens of her eyes
I feel her sole wearing
from the walking?
from the talking?
from the different encounters?
or from her deep sighs?
in the name of what stability?
what order?
which progress?
mister chairman
there be potholes on the road
and we continue to fall into them
Edward Adonteng 