What manna of food eat you?
Day by day
Sip upon sin
Grace by Grace
Gulp your treachery
It has come to this now
Upon the bruised reed of Pharaoh you lean
Rebels of a patched dream
Weep not for Jack Pharaoh
Captain of the perishing chariots of the red sea
Oh but why not!
The crackling of his scorpions against the gullies of your bloodied back
The symphony of a thousand cries
The fiery caresses of the Northern sun
The slaughtering of lives unlived
The substance that cooks the aroma of your nostalgia
The hope of past glory you mark time for
You will swim the sands and walk the seas
For the wells of a glorious history draw you in too deeply
But did he lose his way?
Moses show me your staff
The people yearn for Misraim
No more the peace of Canaan
The fare has become too steep suddenly
We want to go home
To the blood and sweat

From Abyssinia through the Coast of Gold to Zanzibar
We have all gone sane
Let us toss our treasures into the fire
Make for ourselves a new hope
He may strike the hard places for water
He may not show us the way
Moses do you know the way?
The way out of Misraim
In all its majesty and grandeur
Maybe Cush will smile to shame Ham
Or Ham will laugh a tearful mourn
For it has come to this now
We want to go back by staying here and dreaming of there
So fall on my sword as I hang on your rope
Scatter the children and terrify the dreamers
Tear their flesh cause none to believe
We are here to fail so heal them of their faith
Divorce their spirits from truth
Have you defiled their windows yet?
Do it again so they know the darkness as their light
We have come too far to succeed
So kill joy and sow fear
Prune frustration neatly and serve it cold
They will never know
They will never tell

It happened to us because we sold what they couldnt buy
We were happy to play wise though we lost
Lost in the mist
The mist of misery
The certainty of our shuddering shadows
And the beauty of our despair
Look upon your reflection and tell me
What do I see
Is Canaan tucked away
Safely in tomorrow’s susu box
You are there only if you die to Misraim
For he is only a rubber crutch, Pharaoh’s bruised reed…

nana akyɛmpɔ ®


Published by: Akyempo

i met the Priest...i realised that though society seems to respect the baker and despise the shepherd, the baker is not happy despite his stability and the shepherd is free to pursue the pyramids, because he is a dreamer; and one day he will meet Fatima. I am the boy; the shepherd.


5 thoughts on “Misraim”

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