Where were you when I stood on foreign ground
amidst a cold and alien weather,
sweating for a dollar, a pence, a pound,
only to come home to suffer murder
at your hands, my brother? You think
money appears as soon as you blink,
that it was easy on roads to success,
that it was not filled with hurts and duress?
Where were you during summer, fall, winter,
spring when I uttered my own language,
getting no reply---I missed my mother;
overtime and taxes got me in rage.
I wanted to meet another Ghanaian,
one to whom my struggles wouldn’t be alien;
of cultural shocks, of lonely nights when
memories of home like candles burned.
Where were you when a gun was held to me;
a youngster, teeth full of ice, jacking me.
I gave him all that I had, all day’s work;
hard-gotten money bought me good luck
or so I thought---only to be jacked again.
This time, in my own country---Brother Cain,
this is animal behavior, go to work.
You’re running low on Fate’s perilous clock.