even when the field is still evergeen
and aubergine plants are the edges
the goal is to put the ball into the net
even when the field is filled with stars
and a pathway glistens blinding the view
the goal is to put the ball into the net
you have done that beyond glass ceiling
the sun is not glandular fever but another glitch
we wait for afterglow and a glass of glucosewater
I saw Africa shine to the drone of vuvuzelas
As eleven black stars sparkled in the soccerfields of Mzansi
Then I asked my merry fellows and the village songsters
“Tell me, why all this frenzy, why all this fancy?”
Then they said, without missing a beat
In their celebration drums
"Blow the trumpet,
the Black Stars of Ghana are doing us proud in Mzansi!"
then I took pen and paper, traced the glow of their beams
in odes of sonnet laughter and sestina glee,
the only way I know of celebrating
as Africa glows in bright Black Star shine!
For a while the street had no smile on its brown cheek
nor a horn or vuvuzela of which to speak.
Hearts wore everything but a humming.
Who is gonna love our women, when all they need is loving?
Who is gonna tell the belly that the food sits starving
or the throat that the palmwine needs gulping?
But the sky is purple
the ball is marble
the water is stone
we who love soccer, with every bone.
Then the wind blew,
the ball took a fondle from a breast
a kick, a header, a shoulder
or was it a chest?
A smack and it's a goal!! Goo...al!!!
Oluwaaaaa...
The sky is blue
a birdie coos
the water is a river and our women moan
a kiss, a fondle, a black star shone.
Countless people glued
To a glass of moving men
The shouts and waves
The screams and chants
Cheering and adoring men of valour
Endowed with skill and agility
Elegantly protecting and honouring
The waving flag of red, gold and green
Dancing to the cheers of a moving wind
I see thousands of flags in hands
All dancing in the air
Waiting for this moment of pride
All white shirted men of the Stars
Running to the corner flag
Dancing to celebrate
It is a goal!
The Black Stars play with no par
Thousand shots off their boots
And a dozen goals take us off the hooks
I wake up in delight
To a reality of beauty and glamour
In the play of the Black Stars
The Stars will shine to the end
Like a rainbow streak
The fans fancifully dress
Fashioning a mosaic ambiance
That exemplifies ‘ke nako’
And the stadiums fill
Like a tropical twister
The jabulani twirls and whizzes
Spinning a swell trajectory
That irritates the strikers
And the goalkeepers
Like a work of art
The players string passes and crosses
Showing off a brilliant drill
That finishes off as agooooal
And the elation erupts
Like a buzzing drone
The vuvuzelas blasts and booms
Blurring a symphonic euphoria
That drowns the chants
And the Mexican wave
The grief you get
for every hitch and skip
you make, the way you flit
from strikers’ boots
and keepers’ clumsy mitts.
But Jabulani, your few
true moments, glory!
Gyan again, again!!
We hold our lead (and breath)
through every late-game
corner, praying only this:
one honest path tonight
from boot to Kingson’s rising fist.
Oh Jabulani,
the errors we’d forgive
for one last-second,
leaping, latex kiss!
In the midst of so much despair
where all hope seem to be lost
the human spirit seeks repair
from an inner recess, at all cost
in all African villages crowds grow
a lone Black Star hope awakening
as the crowd enjoys the soft glow
of the screen on that cool evening
the vuvuzela sounds like a bee hive
the Hope of Africa is being revived
in the Black Stars of Ghana to strive
but it is the Hope of Africa survived
Nkrumah’s Independence of Ghana
meaningless unless yolked with Africa
so the Hope of Africa musters to garner
hope from Ghana vs. America
one lone Black Star ate all their Stars
so Black Stars shine, black balloons fly
to greater heights to erase the scars
in the skies - the air lifts so sly
Aftermath victory, vuvuzelas so deafening
Kokorokoo! Africa must now unite as one
Nyame Okokoroko, thank you in defending
Gye Nyame! The Hope of Africa is as one.
Goal!
That is the word we want to hear for here
In this sea of deafening cries
Our emotions reach their highest altitudes
Through good music, good people, good attitudes –
Our team must win, no way around that –
We need goals, goals, more goals:
We must prove that we did not come here to play,
We came to conquer, to seize the day,
To make victory our mainstay
Goal!
I love the sound of that four-letter word, the sod
On which our rollercoaster moods play -
Our affinity to spectacular goals,
The infinity of a good match,
The divinity of our soccer-love drive us
Into states of consciousness where each kick,
Each dribble, each foul, each whistle eat away
Away our patience but still our flags sway
Whether chances go green or gray
Goal!
The euphoria never abates, always lightening
The pensive mood, never failing the ears
As we expect a pass, a shot, a goal
Sudden like bright-afternoon thunder and lightning –
As flashes from a thousand cameras capture
When the ball crossed the line and kissed the net –
The players know that they carry our hopes in each kick,
They know their misses make us sick,
They know only winning will do the trick
Goal!
Love for this game propels the vane of our energies
We will not cease now, we will not sing in vain
As we scream on top of our lungs, veins drawn on our necks
Losing is not an option because too much
Has been invested in this, too much life and love -
If eleven men can send us to soccer-heaven,
We will give them our all, we will stand tall
As they kick the ball, as they rise and fall,
As they win in the long haul
