Dumsor: DUMSTOP by Samcilla Baakojr (Poetry)

Past—how strangely swift!

It’s a year—mere months in darkness!

Months—clipped to weeks! And longest day— hours without our lights!

Twenty-four-seven heat and we don’t know when DUM will STOP

But oh! How slow the Future; slow to all

Of every age and being

UG students to pay utility bills? Oh you urchin leaders

Fresh from Christmas-homes decorated with the sweats of the masses

The nation is saddened by “DUMSOR”

Darkness at brow o’er the empty pockets without jobs

Hate strains a stroke of early clock to a new fate

DUMSOR must STOP! Companies need to be restored!!

All-unwelcome bedtime stories aren’t mosquito free

No comfort yet no action to confront the collapsed cities

Cold touch of wiry sheet, ah! Ghana is not like home anymore

How vainly would another promise pierce like the “dum” half year and “sor” only hours to election?

Hath, all that while, been Time, the fleet of foot

Who—having won the Future all too soon—

With sudden turning, as of wheel reversed—

Unwinds that Future back into the Past

Spite of experience, he too holds

the Coming of a “Long Term Plan”

A long, long tract; blank space interminable to end DUMSOR

On which to inscribe his plans; wealth to be won;

Or honours added; or field joined to field;

Or glory achieved through arms, or art, or song and vigil

Till, on a day, he finds his head a-whitening

Yet, even then, his plans all unfulfilled,

May scarce yield credence to his own grey hairs

So surely, the future isn’t a place to hold old-age leaders who insult

Nay, not to All. A certain hill there is

Not like the mighty darkness that has collapsed a lot

‘In the midway of this our mortal life,’

Shapes the whole vision. Sculptor young was he

And teeming with the thoughts of his own years

Who first devised yon figure of old Time

He knew him old; and gave him withered limbs

Yet sinewy, and strong for work withal

“For the Youth believeth in a young man and long working day”

And those firm wings; for he had far to fly

And that stout scythe; for he had much to mow

As the highest leader on the land

His action couldn’t please any –not even those who trusted his youthful nature

A group—as young—regarding. Hopes and Fears—

Nay—Fears were none; but granulatin’ hopes

Each for his own glad prospect.

While the gayer were jeering him.

As ‘Go thy way, Old Grey-beard!

The masses cry “DUMSOR –MUST –STOP”


#Dumsormuststop #Dumsor


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