I know from what my ears did hear,
From Mom and Pop my heart so treasure,
That the breath my nose did first inhale,
And the light my eyes at dawn beheld,
Arose In the town, that raised and sold out bottles.
Their space in time, was well sighted,
Beyond a time for branded bottles,
And “The” Osagyefo in his wisdom built,
The harbor where ships could timely anchor,
As well as mounted factories and towering silos,
That once did house cocoa with pride.
My eyes this day are ceaselessly pouring,
Tears of sadness on top of sorrow and sorrow,
My love, my Bottle Town almost dilapidated,
That, which in times gone by with pride we hailed,
Beyond, bottles, factories, industries and all,
This day in Filth, cluster, with high horses who just don’t care.
I long for times when we strolled to school in honor,
Trekking with pride to school we perceived,
That what we beheld in time to us will belong,
Yes, streets well-crafted and all well-polished,
Working hands well gloved, and buses all labeled,
Street lights, trash picked, if this was not another London.
Chinees, Japanese, Koreans, American heads,
Textiles, electronics or fish or aluminum,
All lined in place to hail our industries,
A time of pride, no matter our hides,
That then, was Tema, well groomed, well-trimmed,
That all eyes did hail with shoulders lifted high.
I burn, I grieve, and reproach with finger pointed,
Not on the younger, on their heads pasting labels,
But stones hurling, hands swinging at the greedy grey heads,
Who sought their own as the ship kept sinking,
Seeking the live boat first, leaving the children hanging,
As a time flew by, they looted, they booted with hearts of stone,
The Tema, Bottle Town off old, is lost It seems,
For us who can look back, my grey headed townsmen,
But to the townsmen younger, it is worth at least telling,
Be it in oral, or in written or any other tradition,
The tales of Bottle Town and the heights attained,
That once did grace our nations shore line.
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