POTS OF POTS
There is the white pot
There is the red pot
There is the black pot
But based on the value placed on each
They can be same
The same clay makes the different pots
Why the preference?
The same force can break them all
Why the preference?
Why must the black pot be rejected and made dirty
When they were also made from the same mother earth?
Think about it, most black pots hold more value as they’ve been
Through more torturous flames to attain their stature and complexion
So why look down on them because of how they look?
“Honam yԑ honam, wo diԑ yԑ fitaa, ԑna me diԑ yԑ tuntum
Ԑwↄmu sԑ me ankasa me sԑ so fo de tuntum ayԑ awufo nkaedeԑ deԑ
Nanso, me gye me ho di sԑ meyԑ fԑ paa!
Enti adԑn na wopԑ sԑ wodidi ma ahwehwԑ atԑm?
Adԑn na wopԑ sԑ, wo ma me gye di sԑ nsu a ԑnam me mu no nnyԑ kↄkↄↄ te sԑ wodeԑ no pԑpԑԑpԑ?
Ewiase wↄ hↄ yi, obiara wↄ ade a yԑbԑtumi de no atotohu,
Sԑ wofrԑ me aduii a, menso mԑtumi afrԑ wo prԑko
Hunu nso sԑ, aduii nim nyansa bebree sene prako”
So treasure the pots equally and let’s stop this conversation of naught
For they never choose their sculptor and their form
If these differences persist
The least favoured pot may scream and fall
Since they are mostly placed side by side,
The fall of one can be the end for all
We are the earth
We are mortal
We are the pots made by the same sculptor which self-destructs with time
Bickering and differences will not change that
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia 2014.
Mum Cee 