Golly Kwame Wonder

Beribi-land
Land of nowhere
Somewhere nowhere
Where the sound of thunder
is not the threat of rain
but the blast of gun powder:
One blast is to a thousand fatalities
Death is a rhythm of no pattern
And underneath its soil
Are bodies like tubers waiting for harvest
With vengeful Phantoms...

The disease of this strange land
Is in the heads of its dwellers
Grey hair is preferred to wisdom
Youthful words are childish talk
If youth proposes new ideas
Greyness will dispose
And for this neglect
They import awkward lifestyles
To fill the emptiness of their own tradition
Sickness has indeed swallowed this earth.

Beribi-land: land of nowhere
Where the sound of thunder
Does not really matter, if it will not rain.

Golly Kwame Wonder