Holes dug with beak of loves
Papa worked hands of no gloves
Rain and sun were no weather
Days and nights were all days
Papa worked with his self
Digging this well of his blood
A water of blood to quench our future
Papa was brutalized
He was whipped by rods of tomorrow
He could cry out his sorrow
But he smiled for more lashes
All to make this future bright and flashy
To the depth of this well
He measured not
All he wanted was a well
Dug, dug and dug
Till he got lost in earth
Where would we have been
If Papa was you or me?
What would we have eaten
If Papa had education and also wore suits?
What would have been our names
If Papa had swallowed western norms?
Today we carry on our lazy heads
Buckets and pans of empty stomachs
Fetching and drinking
Red wines from the wells of our fathers
Ignorant we are
That we drinking the blood of our fathers
From their own wells!
Written by:Oppong Clifford Benjamin
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson