I crossed quite a few

of your rivers, my gods,

into this plain where thirst reigns

I heard the cry of mourners

the long cooing of the African wren at dusk

the laughter of the children at dawn

had long ceased

night comes fast in our land

where indeed are the promised vistas

the open fields, blue skies, the singing birds

and abiding love?

History records acts

of heroism, barbarism

of some who had power

and abused it massively

of some whose progenitors

planned for them

the secure state of madness

from which no storm can shake them;

of some who took the last ships

disembarked on some far-off shores and forgot

of some who simply laid down the load

and went home to the ancestors

Reprinted from the forthcoming The Promise of Hope: New and Selected Poems, 1964-2013 by Kofi Awoonor by permission of the University of Nebraska Press. Copyright 2013 by the Board of Regents of the University of Nebraska Press.