Some words are too heavy to lift with one's naked tongue, so our forefathers invented gutless beings to profess these sensitives through; ones that can harbour any narrative without adding their side of the story. Maybe the tales of our civilization can well be told by these ones- they have seen the dead rise, tasted the blasphemy of Ampam, the scaly one, smelled the nkatikonto soup from the forbidden caves and heard the songs of Oshun, the river goddess.
O they have seen it all! If only they could speak, they would tell of her eyes of sapphire, her lips of nude and her figure, like tender bamboo shoots squirming with Nubian curves. I bet they would explain that an eclipse is just the moon and the sun missing eachother so bad, they both can't afford but to cross paths. That the trickery of the master craftsman, Ananse was a wish granted him by Odomankoma as he broke Him free from the Aurora. Only if they could speak.
Beat the drums to a dirge and tell the king his son died in the battle of Akatamanso. Tell him his last words were a confession. A confession of him laying with his father's fourth wife, Akuvi and watching the nakedness of Awinpoka, his brother's wife whilst she lathered herself in alata samla.
Oh treacherous words from a dying breath! Let us then ask the fontonfrom what she thinks of our kingdom. The shivers in the rooster's crow, the patterns of Ananse's web and the dark whispers behind Okomfo Anokye's sword, let us enquire of her..
[Drum roll]
"Taflats3..." She begins.
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