Ananse’s Right Now.

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I am the spawn of Ntikuma, the weaver of words, who was;
The seed of Ananse, the master of trickery, the husband of Okonore, an ever patient wife,
who poured soup down his throat and smiled whence she could,
I am historys right now,
by the firesides turned by the tv screens I scream…antiquities expensive only because it is rare, about lost, like a fading sunset, that never is to rise,
so auction what is left, bask in a little of its rays before it disappears forever…
let be expensive now what we all took for granted,
Cock crows replaced by alarm beeps, rushing stale winds, tick tocks and rush hours, traffic, children eating mothers food only on weekends, Okonore frowns.
Busier than we’ve ever been to be poorer than we could have been, happiness is expensive, but, I am ;
The spawn of Ntikuma, the weaver of words, who outwitted his father for jolly good fun,
played on Afudehwedehwes tummy and laughed for no reason,
the son of Ananse who he denied but yet he loved,
who laughed with him when he realised yet again…his son had tricked him first.
The favorite of Okonore who hugged him when he cried, They call father names again, shhh my child I’m here…
I am historys right now,
nights spent with Nanny Ann, laugh at my instagram, video games and facebook stats,
I am lost but such is life, will never know the nail breaks of oware holes, they never knew of bugs bunny too, But I am what I am…
The proud son of a time, when neighbors felt free to spank, and we played in the sun, girls ampe under the full moon, young boys admiring from a distance,
fun times, but maybe Funner now, when we can touch and kiss these girls,Jam sections grind up against the wall,
when we can text our I love yous instead of looking into each others eyes, when we can make them profile pics,
although I am;
The spawn of Ntikuma the weaver of words, who spoke poetry behind my great grandmas window, who hid from a father a little too overprotective, who won her heart with his words, and stole innocence after brideprice demands were met,
who cherished her innocence and impressed with a night hunts spoils,
husband of a woman who cooked, and hugged him whence she could,
who took the bush meat of his sweat and called him me wura, blessed his work.
I am of times have changed, of sighs before “the good old days” , but still I feel a belonging though never I did bear witness,
of the time of my ancestors, I still am;
the spawn of Ntikuma, the weaver of words, who was;
The seed of ananse, the master of trickery, the husband of okonore, an ever patient wife, who poured soup down his throat and smiled whence she could,
I am historys right now,
I am your ah well, deal with it.

-Kofi, son of Ananse, Akuamoah.

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