The Gravest Crime

standing up for truth and justice, echoing African heritage and pan-Africanism.

They called us slaves
But we were never that.
We were fathers, mothers, kings and queens,
Rich culture, Gold, Diamond Kente pride, Oware, Ampe, Fufu ne Aponkye Krakra yummy,

We were not born in chains,
Chains were placed upon our story,
Forged in lies of lesser worth,
And written into borrowed history.

Across the waters, millions cried,
Not as numbers but as souls,
Each heartbeat stolen from a drum
That once made broken people whole.

They stole not bodies alone they slaughtered us
They shattered our dreams, names, and split the soul
Raped our mothers and gave us God and the Bible
Thought us to bow and made the moment last.

They called it trade
But it was blood turned into profit,
O land and oceans, why do you not speak
Of the weight you had to hold?
Of stories buried in your depths,
Of lives never growing old?

Yet even in the silence, fire refused to die.
kokoduronii, kokromoti, Opimsoo John Mahama
Stood like Shaka Zulu, Salasie I, Nkrumah, Sankara, Lumumba, Troare,
And placed the truth before the world’s regard.
No trembling word, no softened claim,
He called the crime by its true name
The gravest crime against humanity.

And in that moment,
History turned,
And truth was finally accepted.
We rise not just in memory,
But in power long denied,
For justice is a river
That cannot be forever tied.

Offer apologies that match the pain
Not empty words, but truth sustained.
Bring back the drums, the gold, the art,
The scattered pieces of our heart.
Restore what was taken,
Repair what was broken,
Answer the wounds that still remain.
For this is not a plea It is a reckoning.

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