In my drone of imagination, i flew over the brown sheets of the Romantic Vandal city down to the spiritual Baccus garden where i paused to mark my route and breathe in the fragrance of the sweet scented flowers Baccus nursed.
My route marked, i flew low amidst salutes from old mahogany trees down the naked slope of Volta to the Oware circle where two students held high a torch of excellence. I saw the statues from S.K. Asante and Co. who refuse to drink from the lazy pond they pampered.
Akuafo, Legon, and CC remained silent spectators of the Atheletics Oval which yawned to its belly the hunger for a bounce of a ball. Our Queen’s castle seemed a midget lost in the lands of giants.
Down the famous walk lane which lay half-dead from the stamping of hurried feet to and fro the Diaspora, the night market stayed mute at night save for nocturnal light tubes that kept watch for the thief who never comes. Stubborn Sarbah didnt notice me .
As i roamed the market in search of little mice that traded at night, i heared from a distance, whispers of the four sons of the Diaspora. In wonder of which voices those could be, i hid behind little Jubilee to take a peep. Behold !! , far over the fallen grass that haboured noisy crickets who gossiped loved birds that strolled earlier, the Diaspora hosted a collection of witch camps hanging on the stale dark air. I dared not go close.
Sensing my fuel getting exhausted, i turned, heading back to my abode. I sped through the silent skies who turned my spectators. Sarbah field still spoke tongues , my drone felt a hit when it flew over.
Back home and in the coziness of my bed, i still hear the toll of the Balme bell , who reminds us of our purpose here . i still hear the snores of glorious dreams as they slept on, hoping to continue the journey to reality when they wake. With a sense of satisfaction, i go to sleep smiling. I am part of Legon!!!