Kwame Nwia,
your human poodles
make dictatorial savagery
seem so ideal,
you would think
this is the ultimate
destination of
Pan-Africanism…
Burkina just affirmed
what I have been saying
and preaching
all along,
that blackness
is merely
an accident
of birth,
common sense
is not shared
communal wealth,
monkeys play
by sizes
and so must
humans play
by leagues…
yes,
in Burkina Faso,
those mildly retarded
Mossi thugs
in green
are duking it out
hard and
bloody
to bring
your “vision”
to its logical
conclusion
of primal chaos
and stasis,
your grossly misguided
linkage
of our
meaningless
dependency
in which we have
been dumbly stuck
a half-century
and odd…
in the beginning
was the hellish darkness
of the foresighted
one-party state,
free speech
for fools,
neo-colonialism
gussied up
in lipstick-coated
double-talk…
warrior-crab
in a bucket
full of your own
puke;
we spilled
our blood
and then you sold
our birthright
for the thongs
of an Egyptian girl,
Nkrumah Show Boy,
what was such
such madness
about?
Now,
the Ganja-Boy
has a pussy-parade
lined up for you
come 9/21,
your made-up
birthday,
crabs in a
bucket,
oily rust of
madness…
Kwame Red,
Ghana still has her
fair share of
of your
fan-fools,
Osagyefo
The Great Chameleon,
I heard you say
Black segregation,
deprivation and
degradation and
destitution
were all a myth,
a fib concocted
by a cold-calculating
crock peddling crooks
to callously rock
the cool,
placid and
heavenly
waters of
Booker Tee’s
Five-Finger muck
whose prime preacher
you became
in search
of grist for
the Dumsor
whose riddle
you never
resolved;
with you,
it was all about
the dough,
chuck principles
and racial justice
and self-respect
to the wind –
Kwame Red,
with you,
it was all about
moolah,
the money bag…