The good old days

Swept away are the memories of the good old days

In the cold night, by the fireside sitting around in circles

To have an earful of Nana’s tales

As she spat words of the oracles.

The heavens blessed and washed us with heavy rains

As we jumped in mud and played in it

To bless our childhood and shower away our pains

Our pants were dirty, but the lives of our childhood were lit

Busy heels on the run as our hearts pant

Sacks hung on shoulders, bows, and catapults in pockets.

We whistled to hunt

Unimaginable happiness within as we chased preys; shooting our catapults like a rocket.

Whilst girls in only underpants played "ampe" and "annhwƐkyir",

Topless boys opted for "Chaskele" and "Pilolo"

Even the dump, growth-retarded boy Egyir

Had a role, feeling not so much solo.

Beauties walked in line with their gourds in their armpit

Walking majestically to the outskirt into the stream

Full of honor and wit

The scene they paint leave traces to make a daydream.

The dignity of young girls portrayed

As their rites of puberty were performed

Having them in state laid

With mashed yam and egg signaling their fertility summoned.

Lovers met under trees; while the moon kept watch

Sneaking through windows as papa snored

Siblings in position to keep watch

They talked, hugged, held hands and never were we bored.

I miss those days

When these were real; not memories.

The new generation had them change in many ways

While they scribbled about them as histories

The good old days forever are buried

Buried along with it; the happiness, thrills, the smiles

Away they have been carried

With no traces like stolen stars of the skies.