tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7555516329392912719.post-91254882314976415792007-07-21T17:48:00.000Z2008-05-13T02:12:18.483Z2008-05-13T02:12:18.483ZWhere were you when I stood on foreign ground<br />amidst a cold and alien weather,<br />sweating for a dollar, a pence, a pound,<br />only to come home to suffer murder<br />at your hands, my brother? You think<br />money appears as soon as you blink,<br />that it was easy on roads to success,<br />that it was not filled with hurts and duress?<br /> <br />Where were you during summer, fall, winter,<br />spring when I uttered my own language,<br />getting no reply---I missed my mother;<br />overtime and taxes got me in rage.<br />I wanted to meet another Ghanaian,<br />one to whom my struggles wouldn’t be alien;<br />of cultural shocks, of lonely nights when<br />memories of home like candles burned.<br /> <br />Where were you when a gun was held to me;<br />a youngster, teeth full of ice, jacking me.<br />I gave him all that I had, all day’s work;<br />hard-gotten money bought me good luck<br />or so I thought---only to be jacked again.<br />This time, in my own country---Brother Cain,<br />this is animal behavior, go to work.<br />You’re running low on Fate’s perilous clock.Rob Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06507320627534702508noreply@blogger.com