Nothing but a shadow
Being used for a shelter
And nothing but stones
Being used for desks.
Nothing but a drum
Used instead of a bell
But they know what I know
And can read what I read.
This village school stands
Along the dusty road I passed
Moving about the tree
As the earth rotates each day.
Farmers can tell the time
Each day by this alone
Brave children of the soil
Working for the future
In this dusty classroom. Memories Of Dawn At KuKuhill Inside the gate the smell of strong tea in the air
With burnt toast and real butter
Outside the gate, strong cinnamon and nutmeg.
But I preferred the neighbors who
Cooked rice, plantain and pepper sauce
And the other that made me nauseous at times,
Fried curry rice and herbs.
But I could stand the garlic
And onions from the other side
As I wondered how many bags of onion could smell that strong.
The dawn came each morning and the sun was never late
Transporting these scents through the neighborhood.
Now I wonder if there is anyone left to admire the dawn
And smell the scents floating in the air.
The only equalizer on KuKuhill was the dawn.
The dawn is still spectacular on Kukuhill
Even if time and change have robbed it of its audience.
Nature makes up for everything
With the perfect moon and such
And for the Hilltop at KuKuhill
The dawns were spectacular
With the dew drops on the grass
Reflecting like crystals from the sun rising in the East
And those insects who have ventured into the light
Now lying helpless on the ground,
Struggling to recapture their lost flight
Before the crows and other birds
Make a feast of them,
Before the sun fully shows itself
The dawn was still spectacular on KuKuhill.
Dedicated to the memories of my parents: Mr. D S O Addo 1902-1989 Mrs. Margaret Ellen Dedei Addo 1914-2002