In these four corners
I surreptitiously crawl
Shutting mute entries with a threatening brawl
While the banners of thoughts are rooted in my head’s corners
In this dark self-confine
I ruminate, no, I contemplate
On whether to zap out this life and put it on a plate
For those with stochastic opinions that will fit fine
But that budding life without any backing patriarch
Who is dependent on only me
And those souls that boarded the same womb with me
Whose future rest on only me, blackmail with sympathetic body march
What am I to do?
Who sews the only seamstress’ clothes when her hands have been severed?
Who listens to the listener when her ears are full?
Who can see the sweat of the goat through those tick hairs?
Darkness hides me best
But fears will not make me rest
Fears that may never materialize, within my closed eyes dance
Taunting me and telling tales of what I am; a dunce
One day it will all end
It will all end any day
Why will I take the job of another when there is no fees?
Yes, in my anxiousness and disappointments I will wait even if it takes eternity.
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.