Explorations of the past
Led to greedy seeds sewn like monster plants
Monster plants which grew to take what it never owned
Cruel “beela” traps were set up
In black hunt
Aims of strength harvest causing mean arrests
As molestations manifested in attestations
Ah! Chained beings turned to dogs
Were forcefully pulled to hop like frogs
Painful reminiscencing!

Humans in flesh were boxed like sardines
Into tins of ships
Forcing airs to flee and
Causing many to lose their breaths
The poor dead were tossed into seas to feed grateful fishes
As their lands yearned for their hands in tilling
In worse scenarios, begged for their royal remains in its crying womb
Who did not know of the tears of the black innocent lands?
Lands coerced into a huge dungeon of poverty?

Dog foods that fed jewels of grieving mothers
Carnivorous whips that bit into fleshes with great spirits
Names of originalities metamorphosed into alienisms
As bodies, spirits and souls
Stood naked under crying skies
Inspected like hoes and machetes, dish washers
Pleasure holes, gun shields
How can living things be turned into robotics
And sold into houses to battle their lots
Now you need them gone?

Wake your dead to wake their stolen
To conjure the thorns which bit into fleshes
Holding their mouths to vomit them out
To fix on their rightful bodies
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
To fix their callouses and even their skins
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
To sow back virginities meanly stolen from saints
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
Preparing them in their birth surnames to the lands of their birth
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
To dive into seas and bellies of fishes to piece the pieces of the tossed expired
Giving them lives to be returned in full to their roots
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
Chanting wrongfully spilled blood from pores of the earth
Into their respective vessels
Wake your dead to right their wrongs
Backtracking time to erase hurts of loss from haunted heads and wombs
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
Evaporating your heavens like air into its forest of thorns
After quenching their greed
So you can be reared like the stolen to build your glitters
Then, none will evade your space
No head will care about your existence
No erased root will be stuck in its replants
As our innocence revert to supremacy in our heaven intact

Oh you who wake lion bites of pain in animosity!
You who wake monstrous dreams pushed into stalls of forgetfulness!
You whose fear of extinction make you human beasts!
If you cannot wake your dead for the change you seek
Let all your mouths lose their sounds of grumbling
Let all your disdain dissipate
Into blames of your ancestral games
Let all your murderous intents vanish
Like un-judicious dreams in wake
Let all your awareness of colour be nonexistent
You live in the paintings of your predecessors
There is nothing wrong with a farmer reaping his harvest
You are the traces of shifted usurpers now usurped
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 8, 2016

By amoafowaa

Just a simple Ghanaian trying to find the best in our society. I may be fun, I may be interesting, I may be funny, I may even be foolish or intelligent, but it is all based on the mood in which you find yourself. I believe our minds make us who we are. Know that, pain, no matter its 'unbearability', is transient. Unburden or delight yourself for a while in my writings please. And all corrections, advice and opinions are welcome. Know that you are the king, queen or royal on this blog. :)

4 replies on “WAKE THE DEAD”

This is how my African Ancestors felt when they were torn from Mother Africa’s breast, Stripped of language, culture and indigenous religion, shackled and chained on a voyage to a strange unwelcoming land to suffer under the slave masters whip and curse. Yet still many of us long to return home. Our true home.

Psalm 137:1-4

King James Version (KJV)

137 By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion.

2 We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof.

3 For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion.

4 How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?


Yes even with my DNA test all I found out was that my maternal ancestors were mostly likely from Mozambique or Nigeria. After 400 years most African Americans are so mixed with other races that we cannot find or locate our long lost families. I just hope when I do visit Africa that Africans will Welcome me as one who was taken away and has returned to give Thanks.


Leave a Reply to amoafowaa Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s