The painful and humiliating songs

Sung by our forefathers

Who were classified as machetes and shields

Take endless journeys through my mind


Thoughts of the Fante gallants

Subdued by harmless guns

As they plead

“M’agya etu, mepawokyew

Menkum me ai! Mere ke sonkyi maaba”

To mouthless guns kill my spirit over and over again


Thoughts of the great Asantes

Mesmerised by the taste of salt

Which abounds on the shores of their lands

And exchanging precious gold for them

Are like needles piercing my pride in thousands of ways


Thoughts of others conniving to trade

With Angelic Satans and profiting

At the brutality of their own blood

Kill me a thousand times each day


I aim for no revenge

I just hope for these thoughts

To take their journeys to the other side

Where  boastful superiors pride

On the blood of my forefathers

And aim to live up to their legacies


Let us see then

After they wear these thoughts

Whether they can look into eyes of supposed monkeys

And still act their shameful selves

Without thinking themselves pigs.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


NOTE: I do respect everyone who deserves to be respected. This poem is in no offence to the white folks who respect themselves and humans in general. I do have white friends and I love them so much, but hearing the disrespect of blacks and the name calling by some people hurt me to no end, hence the poem, thoughts of the persona may come across as harsh but many provocations are harsher than this.



Here and there

We go

High or low

We flow

Winged in wizardry

They claim our show

But we are the planters

They chew

The singers

Who help their hearts soothe

And the beautifiers

Who fill their view


Our homes now keep them warm

Our foods they lick in pleasure

But have no pity

As they break our bones


One day we’ll stage a coup

With the help of the sky

To have them sleep eternally

To have our freedom

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


In your stead we stand

For your sake we band

To your satisfaction we hand

Our struggles with the land


For your healing we boil

For your effectiveness we toil

We make love to the soil

To make sure your mobility does not coil


So why are we shedding tears

At the hands of your machetes?

Why are we harbouring fears

At the tips of your inventions?

Why our fear of extinction

At your preferences of naught?


We are your foot-mats

And your sun hats,

We are your sustenance

And your breath

We are you, you can say you are us

Shall we hold hands to thrive?

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


In the monstrous apiary

She kept all enclosed like a diary

A sage needs no rage

Rage needs a cage

So goes the adage

She suffocated with fake delight

While her heart lacked light

Like a dungeon of a caged lion

She dragged her barrel from Zion

Her heart shedding bloody tears

As her body covered her fears

Until she caved in

Many issues formed themselves as causes

Some said her demise was caused by forces

Others said by her losses

Others blamed her choices

When she gave it all to mouths which now wag

A cadaver only knows its story

All else are fabrications hovering, guarding or maiming its past

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


His generated a chuckle

Hers generated a chortle

Theirs generated a cackle

Perhaps yours will give a belly laugh


Drummers drum.

The drumming hands will never fail to drum

When they see a beautiful drum

Like a pro, yours will be next, its rhythm more than perfect


No matter the level of your amusement

Yours will take place in absentia

No matter how loud the laughter others’ can generate

You’ll dance in ignominy to your horrid songs to the delight of others.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014

This poem is dedicated to all who gossip and all who are at a point gossip materials. It is reminding all the people who talk about others in absentia, laughing at them that their time will definitely come. Just as they are pleasuring and amusing themselves with other people’s problems, theirs will definitely be grander.


He wears dirty boots

Cares not about hooter’s hoots

And holds a soul gun with which he shoots


He is the head of the coots

Who watches over you and loots

Without distorting its roots


Avert not your gaze

Get out of your daze

What will fill your thoughts will you amaze

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


Captured, I watched

A heart in oblivion as its charm

Pulled me through burdens

Into the abyss of love

Captured, I yearned

To be in an embrace

Instead of the adulthood bestowed

By my birth, yet, the bearer knew not

Captured, I followed,

With discipline though dazed

And fell into mud pits of shame

I followed in a shadow of the unknowing

Captured, he stepped and I stepped

Until passions grew full

And my chest threatened to explode

Until I stained my white-robe with his likeness

Keen is what I was

Eloquence left me in his presence

Love consumed me in his thoughts

Valiancy was never in my nature

Instant gushes of hurt

Nursed itself and exploded

A decade has sailed

But you still have me nailed

Yes, nailed to a cross through no fault of yours

Such sweat burden of thoughts

Standing back and watching

Is what I do best, I guess.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


I need to talk to you

Papa, I need to talk to you

I really admire you,

Your discipline and your teachings

Thanks to you, many pray five times to Allah

Many fast a month out of every year

Thanks to you, Many live descent lives

But please can I talk to you one on one only for today?

Without fear of being victimised, insulted,

Banished or killed?

A child can commit any sin and will still

Be loved by his parent

Why do you forsake my brothers and sisters

Who sway?

Is autocracy your thing?

Must I always have the fear of death

Hanging on my mind, making me nervous?

These questions I ask,

Please freeze your temper

And raise your hands to your guards

To freeze their ears

I am only talking to you and you alone

I need you to tell me why people have to live

Without some body parts or exit this world

On your instruction, what I hear always.

So you create to take unfairly?

What about women?

Did you create them as helping hands?

Then why did you put passions and yearnings in them?

If that is not the case, why do you keep silent?

The many hearts scattered in your name

Can build ten worlds, why is that?

Please tell me today

Give me answers and let me take up the veil

If there is a truth to it, I’d gladly give my heart to your cause

Or give my back for you to have my heart to free my soul

If you turn out to be ruthless.

     Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014

Tree of poems (1)

A good poem by a poet with foresight.

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual post: English, Italiano, Română

the poem is a mountain,
an ocean, a temple, a hospital,
a tavern,
a hotel, a road, a tree
and never a wall

my life so far
is just a verse
from a poem with too many grammatical typos
and when it will be passed on clean, I will be deleted –
this poem is the name of all people on the planet

the poem is a mountain,
an ocean, a temple, a hospital, a tavern, a hotel …
a cemetery
without pits – here, the lyrics are burnt offering
– the phoenix of sigh, of smile and regrets

a1Albero delle poesie (1)
il poema è una montagna,
un oceano, un tempio, un ospedale,
un albergo, una strada, un albero
e mai un muro
la mia vita finora
è solo un versetto
da un poema con troppi errori grammaticali
e quando verrà  passato…

View original post 147 more words


Alhaji Suri sat in his bench and thought about what Alhaji Babu told him yesterday, he is to give his daughter’s hand to him in marriage or clear all his debts. How was he going to clear this debt? If he did, that would be the end of him, his finances would crumble. But looking at Fati, what could he do to convince his stubborn daughter to marry Alhaji Bubu who is his age mate? He soliloquized only to feel startled upon hearing his wife’s voice.

“Alhaji, what is the matter? Why are you talking to yourself?” Mma Fuleira asked

“Oh, it is nothing, on a second thought; I think I should tell you. It’s about Fati, Alhaji Bubu wants her hand in marriage”

“I believe I did not hear you well, it cannot be Alhaji Bubu who is almost 70 years old?” Mma Fuleira enquired.

Silence engulfed both of them. They know the implication of defying the man, and they know what will happen if they break the news to Fati, but they by all means have to put the latter at a disadvantage, the question was how?

Fati is a university graduate who has sworn never to marry a Muslim although she is from an Islamic background. In fact, she joins no religion. Her father is of the opinion that the girl has been brain washed by some traditionalist. Whenever the girl opens her mouth to talk about religion, she talks about religion being used as a tool of colonialism, being used to cheat and suppress women, being used to cheat others and the worst of all, being used to kill innocent people.

Alhaji Suri sometimes thinks he made a mistake sending her to school. It certainly is school which has brainwashed her into rebellion. Just last week, during a conversation with some of her friends in his own house, he had overheard their conversation and was shocked at what his daughter had to say;

“What? To marry a Muslim man, I’d rather stay single or kill myself. It is not that I aim to label. I know the religion is fine. People who practice it without greed do great and live with mankind in harmony, but now, many are confusing religion with their barbaric cultures and using the literal meanings of quotations from the Bible or the Quran to push their selfish desires.  It seems the Bible helped Christian women to be human by specifically saying one man to a woman, the idea of Muslims being asked to marry as many as four and love them equally, which is ridiculous because to me no man can love four women equally, makes me fear getting into any of those traps. I also pity the women whose jealousies are cocked on their chest forever. I reject being thrown into a slot of a person who has four slots, such greedy people thriving on the wings of religion to exercise their greed make me sick. They marry a woman today only to see another tomorrow and start battling with their first slots to fill their second slots, then a third. They then reserve the last slot for their old age only to force themselves on some young girls using the ratio of men to women as their worldly excuse before they turn into corpses. Such strange people! If there is an Allah somewhere above, He must really be shedding tears so He  should reserve severe punishments for them in their graves.”

Alhaji Suri could not sleep that night. He had married three women but  died, he felt so insulted by the words of his daughter but could not confront her for fear of her saying what she said to his face. He has had loved all of them to the best of his capabilities, but Mma Fuleira tops his love chart. So this girl has succeeded into making him do an examination on his life. He knows he is courageous, but he does not understand why all his male children are calm while Fati got his extreme trait; his fire. He can never dare to blaspheme but his daughter does that easily.  He hoped none of his religious friends hear what she said, she might be stoned for blasphemy. Since he heard those words from her, he resolved never to have any conversation with her about religion ever. Now what is he to do?

He could tell her and force her to agree, but knowing Fati, she is not the type to be forced into submission. He calls for a family meeting when she goes to work and talks to his family about the problem. They agree that Fati must be married without her consent.

It was a bright Saturday when Fati saw the preparations going on, the house was painted, “pito” was brewed, different meat were fried, she asked what was going on only to be told, Fauzia is to get married to her longtime boyfriend. She helps somehow though she did not like the boy in question because of his drinking prowess.

He woke up on Sunday morning only to feel the hands of people on her body, something like a massage. It seems she has been bathed and was being dressed. She asked what was going on only to be told that she is getting married to someone. She made to talk and realized that her talks will do nothing for her. She must have a plan rather. She asked who her husband to be was but none teld her. She knew instantly that it couldn’t be good.

She was taken out dressed and covered. Lele was applied on her hands and feet, when she got out, they poured something on her signifying her marriage was sealed, still, there was no sign of her husband. After all the loud music and greedy mouths who saw her marriage as an opportunity to feast, her things were packed into a car and she was sent to her husband’s house.

She was sleeping because she was too tired, she felt a hand on her, opened her eyes and managed to switch on the light only to see Alhaji Babu’s protruding belly leading him as he stands naked, he says “sorry” and makes to push her on the bed but she instinctively bites his hands until blood oozes. As the man wails, attracting some people in the house into the room, she collects her thoughts and decides to run away. But she realised that the security man had been warned to never open the gate for her. The walls are also too tall to climb.

Hajia Sunda was very angry with Alhaji Babu;

“I told you to be very careful with women you go in for. With your diabetes, do you have to go in for a dog who will bite and send you to your grave?”

His second and third wives agree and the insult went on and on and even after the doctor finished his treatment and left, she heard insults directed at her. She realised that she needed to find a way out of the house as fast as she could but all eyes are on her. She opened her room only to realise that she had been locked inside. She calls out but none minds her.

She cried herself to sleep until she saw the door opening, before she could get to the gate she saw the intruder put her food down and quickly locking the door on her way back. She decided to starve. She had no phone to call anyone and she had no one on her side. She knew that the moment she realised that they all knew she was getting married but only she was oblivious to that fact. This is a war she must fight and triump. Even if she has to lose her life, she does not care as long as she is not turned into a corpse vehicle for an old man waiting to enter his grave.

She had known Alhaji Buba but had never known the man harbored such thoughts about her. He had usually patronized the bank in where she worked, she knew he was her father’s best friend and was a very wealthy man but never thought he had such moronic thoughts.

That evening, the man stood outside and addressed her, if only she is willing to lie with him, he will make it possible for her to live a normal life and even go to work, but if she remains adamant, he is going to lock her in the room for as long as it takes.

Fati felt very hungry, she did not want to eat any of the foods that the people had brought in for fear of it having a sedative. It’s been over five days now and she is fast losing touch with time. She thought about Kwame Kodie, he had thought her how to break into houses when she had wanted to be a detective. That guy is the only one she had had a real connection with throughout his life but he had been frank with her, his parents will not find it funny if he happens to even date her, something about the Christian religion and its rivalry with the Islamic religion. Then she started hating Christianity too. Religion she thought was supposed to make people free and give them peace not tying them like ropes so much so that they cannot breathe freely in this world. She searches for a pin and unlocks the door as everyone sleeps.

She stepped on the compound of the house and realised that the gateman was dozing outside his small room. She dashes into the hedges. The noise woke him up, he got up, surveyed the area and walked around a bit only to go back to his dozing. Fati did not know how long she was in the hedge, but she felt something move and thought it was a snake, at that same time, she heard a car spark and run to see if she could get the chance to go outside with the car. As she stepped out, she was blinded by the sunlight, she felt some sharp pains and fell unconscious.

She woke up feeling pain all over her body, she felt as though she had been pounded. She saw her mother sitting by her bedside and Alhaji Bubu’s first wife sitting at the far end. She called her mother and told her:

“I forgive you, all of you for what you did to me. I was knew the most happiness through you, I now know the most sadness through you. I am really sorry for all your caged minds. I wish somehow that you find the liberation before joining the earth. Living like this all your lives, deciding for others what to make of their lives certainly must have its heartaches. But for the life you chose for me, I would rather die than thread that path, so whatever happens to me, please know I’m at peace. Now please get me some water”

Mma Fuleira rushed for the water, only to come back to see her daughter being wheeled away to the mortuary. She passed on Hajia Sunda said. I am sorry, my son did not know she was hiding in the hedges, he was going out when she run into his car. I am so sorry.

Mma Fuleira knew within her heart that she could not blame anyone but herself for her loss. Her greed, her husband’s greed and her family’s greed had cost her her only daughter. She had two sons and a daughter, now she has only two sons. She cried bitterly. When Alhai Suri heard the news, he fell down and said not another word until he met the wandering ghost of his daughter which held a gun pointed at him. I thought she said she had forgiven us, why is she threatening to kill my tired ghost? He thought, his gladness at seeing her turning into fear.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


I am at a yellow position

Watching your quick reds

And your greens

As they switch in fast paces against me

Giving my thoughts no rest

And my heart no peace


I have been at this position

Waiting for you to come to a decision

And help me be at ease

My chest cannot chase

Your speed through my mind forever

I was also hatched after nine moons


My legs are breaking at this yellow

I, who many eyes are keenly on,

Stand still my light transfixed on you, only you.

I deserve a seat under a cool shade

So please lock the red or be forever green

To pave way

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014



It is raining

But I am not seeing

I know you’re seeing

But choose to let time do the telling

Like a real gentleman, you choose modesty to boasting

Another day, another month, I keep going

Getting closer and closer to your blessing

I know that now, so I’m advancing.

     Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


Oh poor poor sky

Did anything go awry?

Please tell I

Without making up a lie


Sky oh poor sky

Why? Do you feel shy?

You lie open and cry

And can’t tell me why?


“My bloody tears

Come from my many fears

For the many things my ear hears

And my heart bears


See young ones under decades

Below me chained in barricades

With many eyes scanning for arcades

Without seeing these barricades


You ask me if I’m shy

For me to mention this, I’m shy

For me to see this, I cry

And for this to happen I ask why?


I am one for all

So why do you seek to make the innocent fall?

And place a call

To me when problems do you call?


You are greedy ants

Who hate benefiting pants

But run in barring pants

As you hear each other’s rants”


Sky oh mother sky

Please forgive my people and I

We had no intention of making you cry

We’ll rectify, we tell no lie


People, a hurt to the sky

Must make us shy

We hide under her and make her cry

Get the young ones and stop their cries.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


Have you ever watched a snapshot and wished to be in it?

Have you ever watched time and wished to be its tail?

Have you ever watched the birds and hoped for wings?

Have you ever seen eyes you hope for as mirrors?


Like a painting you hang on my every wall

I turn left, I turn right

I look forward, I turn backward

All I see are many paintings of you

Clouding my background

Calling my heart to come right in

So why is there a blocking?

When I push forward Mr. Wall blocks

My entry reminding me of what you are

An extraordinarily beautiful painting on my wall


Every painting of you tells a story,

A story I’d love to listen to until the end

But like a butterfly, time weakens my wings

And I’m left hoping to be the tail of time

Just to hear all those stories to the end

And see your rhythmic walks,

Your inviting lips,

Your welcoming eyes,

Your lovely bosom

And watch time savour your skin little by little

But time closes my eyes as it eats your delicacies

Throwing jealous tantrums while threatening to push me over

And I wonder if its temper one day, will not make him honour his promise


Sometimes I yearn to watch you from up above

As you walk majestically down in your grace

Then I’ll have a proper view of you

And sing great songs about you as you deserve

And shield you from heavenly harm

So I begrudge the birds

Who watch you from above

And have the  decency not to care

Some impudent ones defecating on God’s masterpiece



Just seeing your eyes from afar

Has become a passionate addiction

I wish with all of my soul to have them as my mirrors

My mirrors to perfection,

My mirrors of success,

My mirrors of flawlessness

Mirrors of grave importance

But even from afar, the cruel walls tell

Me of greed reflecting from my eyes

And caution me to keep my distance


What will you have me do?

I could close my eyes too

But how can I shut the eyes of this heart?

Tell me a way to de-activate this background

Tell me how I can get you off my life-like-a-computer’s desktop

And I will easily do it

To be free.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014



“Y’ani abre, y’ani abre kↄↄ

Y’ani abre, y’ani abre kↄↄ”


Chant demonstrators who in years past sang


“Onoaa n’ἐko oo, Ↄnoaa n’ἐko oo

Onoaa n’ἐko oo, Ↄnoaa n’ἐko oo

Obiara nim sἐ ἐyἐ ↄnoaa n’ἐko oo

Obiara nim sἐ ἐyἐ ↄnoaa n’ἐko oo”


I laugh in all types of languages

As I watch many pushers pulling

Their representative from his throne to no avail


They sang songs of praises

Fought and bickered

Testified and cried

Of his pious and nice traits of headship

As he spoke softly to mark his gentility


Now it is a mess

As pushers turn hunters

Could it be the fault of the pushers

Or the fault of the pushed?

Mockery galore

Red and black clad and speak of unhappiness

On fat, slim, semi-slim bodies as gates close on development


Mouths with eyes have gained watchers

As they parade propagandists and the aggrieved

Mouths with ears have gained ears

As they merge voices like oil and water

And accusations face counter accusations

To the fascination of ears


What a spectacle!

Uniformed look on wanting to join

A nation turned drama

Wanton thoughts, curse of indifference

I’ll still sit on the fence.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


I have many farms

Which are tainted by metals

I’ll work to make them fertile

All I need is to use my work charms


I’ll use my precious hands

To pamper all my seeds

They need to grow into feeds

No matter their struggle with the lands


And so it goes with time

No matter the sadness of the bard

A happy note will play so hard

When the crowd is at their prime

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



Oration of chastity

Parading of nudity

Inculcation of sincerity

Akweley passed the test of “Sonimouni”


No rice or corn ingestion

She was bathed in a river with admonition

Of family ties and connection

By the gathering of all hands to eat “Ho fufui”


Her hands were trained on the culinary

Her skills, she was told, must not be ordinary

And her asepsis apt; personally and at her future granary

Her matured thoughts were installed over the “Ka Pam Yami”


Substantiation of chastity, clay pots of anonymity

Sat on her chest in the gods’ loyalty

Her strongest brother waited in to carry her home in anxiety

After her buttocks had conquered the “Teko Mi” marking complete the “Bua sia mi”


Inculcation of respect

Teachings on many life aspects

And refraining from being horrible suspects

Were pushed into her head the whole of the “Blemi ke fo mi”


Her rich family adornments showcased her beauty

She danced well as all eyes found her pretty

Like a beautiful flower as she swore to do her duty

Of no shame to her family in the “Mahe ya mi”


“I will never forget

The “Mahe ya mi” even in a bet

Your father chose me among the set

And so I am who I am now because of purity”


How then can her seed take seed

Before her adornment of many a bead?

Not being able to step into her hometown is a creed

Her daughter of shame and abomination!


She waited until her menarche

And went through what her daughter calls anarchy

To get the womanhood key

Nature and change has dealt her a blow.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


In times past, when girls have their menarches, they go through puberty rites in order to become women ready for marriage. The Ga Adambge’s of Ghana call this “dipo”. This poem is the story of Akweley, who went through the dipo rites and brought honour to her family. It seems her daughter is pregnant even before her time for the rites. Akweley tells her modern child what she went through before becoming a woman and how she can never step foot in their home town because she broke that custom. (The alien words are names of days for the festival, except the Teko Mi which is the final rites of substation of chastity)


Stories are told

Of a vicar who only preached

About hell fire and its recipe

He expounded on lies




Lack of submission,


Lack of respect,


And many others

His bulky wife had a mouth as sharp as a double edged sword

She was a lioness who wore angelic clothes in public

Only to leave her claws, carnivorous teeth and burning eyes

Bare at home

She pounded the vicar like fufu in a mortar

Until the whole town got to know of the vicar’s sickness

Of natural bruises

A time came when he couldn’t take it any longer

He asked his congregation:

Who heals the preacher’s heart when he is worried?

Who listens to the preacher when he needs ears?

Who will be the preacher’s preacher?

He unveiled his blinded left eye and his lioness

And divorce walked in by itself

So I ask, will he go to heaven

Or become an ingredient of hell?

We are roped by laws

Laws we understand not

Laws which will take us there,

There, in the cooking pot of hell

To join its fire.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


How grand

Pounds and Euro battled not rand

Nothing was left to strand

All stars stood in their respective stances

Eyes feared to blink, for fear of a magic escaping

Mouths couldn’t help to gape

Knees felt weak with envy

Hearts fluttered and imagined themselves us

Tears were our evidence of attraction


The clothes were superb,

Yours, mine, followers

The chords were apt

The preacher funny and experienced.

Our eloquency in vow proclamations,

The applause of the captivated; unmentionable.

A picture here, a video there

All smiles in place, no flaw


So where are those perfections?

The-all-angelic-robes-of-forever we wore then,

Where are those?

Those smiles which exuded millions of positive needs

Millions of smiles ahead

Smiles of assurance that the future is meeting

Us in an embrace of happiness

Where are those?

Did we leave those at the bank of this river?

Why will sweat cause a ruckus?

Why are little gaffes the king of our homes

Pulling us on strings to repel?


I am afraid of invidious mouths

Waiting to give splendour in negativity;

Biting and blowing our hurt and pain

So I am rooted, but for how long?

God must be weeping,

The church must be mourning,

As those lavish vows roll in filthy gutters

And I ask myself, why did we go through all that trouble?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014



This leaf is raddled

Saddled by the reigns of ageing

Ageing which happily flaunts its job

To the fascination of time

And takes ridiculing as its compliment


This leaf is raddled

Raddled though it is

It has seen all shades of the sun;

Mild, seductive, angry, angered, and frightening

But none blinded it


This leaf is raddled

Raddled though it is

It has seen all shades of the wind;

Breezy, windy, stormy, tsunami

Some with its friends; rains, thunder and lightning, but still stands


This leaf is raddled

Raddled though it is

It has been stepped on

Parts torn, pests infested

And has seen many sicknesses but stood well


You’ve just started your reign

But you still are a leaf

Be no tool of ridicule

That will be sarcastic to your future

As your future me may make countenances, no matter sweet, coil.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


Eyes like owls’

Faulty at your sight

Eyes so bulky

Saw all perfectly but you


Heart like mules’

Faulty at your touch

Heart so healthy

Felt all well but you


Head of a genius

Faulty at your reading

Head so thoughtful

Thought all else well but you


Now they mourn in unison

Crying a loss, please

Let the tears be a magnet

To pull you back for rectification

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


There’ll come a time

Pens will write by themselves

Seeds will grow themselves

Foods will cook themselves

Cars will drive by themselves

Airplanes will fly by themselves

Ships will sail by themselves

News will announce itself

Houses will build themselves

Sicknesses will heal themselves

Countries will rule themselves

All bodies will be listless

And obese

As power rests on metals, stones and woods.

     Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.



When the wind blows

It is alright

I’ll shield its blows

And hope for sunlight


When the sun shows

It is alright

I’ll enjoy its mild flows

And hide from its fright


When the rain falls

It is alright

I’ll only walk tall

Until I reach a shaded light


When it is stormy

It is alright

I’ll freeze like a dummy

Until I escape the plight

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


My hair cannot flow to the ground

So it is okay if you shave some 

Be my barber for today

And have my head, for a while as your tool

You can turn it into mockery to make me a fool

Or you can barber me beautifully to make me shine

But know that the hair is not static

Your handiwork will not remain forever

So shave me whichever way you like

As long as I live, I’ll live through it.

But someone will be your barber someday

Beware, it could be me.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014

  (Image from reshlyeducatedmen.com)


Laugh from the heart

Because we are here for a while,

Only a while.

We are balloons

We are like balloons;

Flat at birth,

Blown to be big and beautiful

Only to burst

Or our air let out

Little by little until weakness catches up

And little holes make themselves in us

Then we are thrown into the incinerator

Like the trash we are then.

So be happy

Live happily

Let the sun rise on your face

You may feel the heat

But someone somewhere will be led by your light

And testify when you’re out.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


She’s draped in a fertile bosom

With trees which blossom

She has very strong horns

Horns like electrifying thorns

She has a thick black womb

So obviously has a strong comb

She looks green from afar

But is withering on a par

Withering elements being sewn

By those who will her remains mourn

There is no appliqué:

That will be one saviour appliqué

So she lies like a helpless bulldog

Being dug, cut and licked like a dog

Her beautiful features are giving way

Giving way for horrific skin which cannot sway

She is the punching bag of all desperadoes

As her bodyguards always play the rondos

So the greater part of her womb beings are dazzled,

Dazzled by the music in play only to wake like a horse saddled

Some watch, others yap like monsters or fools

While others are busy being shaped into tools

Ha! Who is not tired watching?

Everyone but those staying

A piece of trash

Deserves no rush to crash

 Let me close this mouth

Maybe as it is being bombed into nothing I can head south.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014

  (Picture from sahelblog.wordpress.com)


Salad leaves are no kontomire leaves

And I am no goat in a coat

Coffee is not for the energetic

And I am no weakling

Heavy furs are not for the heated

And I am forever perspiring

Losing to make-up is not for the natural

And I am no artefact

Throwing fists is not for the sane

And I am not mad

Crying wolf on seeing a cockroach is not for the African

And I am no European.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


I am a whore

There’s no need to deny

I have dated from affable to acrid

From brats to bastards,

From cute to candid

From dull to dunderheads

From eloquent to the eleemosynary

From foul to fantastic

From gullible to giants

From heartless to horrible

From industrious to innocuous

From jesters to jollies

From kabuki performers to ka-ching seekers

From loving to lusty

From manly to malleable

From non-entities to nags

From oppressors to orators

From pleasant to panderers

From queer to quality

From restless to resistant

From stoic to stallions

From tall to tough

From ubiquitous to ugly

From vampire to valued

From worms to worthless

From xenophobes to xylo-players

From youthful to yen-spenders

From zealots to zeitgeistists

You are awed by my level of prostitution

So your mouth is opened like a whale in shock

I am a whore, yes, I am a whore of words.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


This is a clarion call

You saw the dirty fall

There is none in your net, no ball

So why can’t we form a happy wall?


This is a clarion call

Let’s meet in the hall

And walk hand in hand to the mall

No need to be blinded by a blindy pall


This is a clarion call

Like that of water which from heaven fall

So don’t stall

Let’s just yield to the clarion call

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014



Seclusion in abundance

An unhappy witch’s handicraft, perhaps

Collusion of voices of annoyance

Amidst vocals painting great ambience

Still secluded, a bad spirit’s doing perhaps.

Blow me cold, blow me hot

Blow me right, blow me left, perhaps

A good embrace awaits somewhere

Somewhere these eyes see not

To pull me to safety with a force of gravity

Higher than this aloneness.

Whatever has developed legs in my head

Needs exorcism to move

To another destination before doom falls on my world like manna.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


I am tired of living with Jack Frost

Who blows, taunts, jabbers and queerly sings

Even when goosebumps in surrender raise their wings

He laughs and gains more strength to frost


Honey, come and let’s sack Jack Frost

I’m tired of being his puppet even during springs

He puffs and hardens and makes me lost

In the quivering of my mouthy closing  and opening flings


Poor me, happy Jack Frost

Who would have thought I’d live with his many rings

I had you early and you promised a good host

Of happiness and warmth and not Jack Frost who painfully sings


If I spend more moments with Jack Frost

I swear I’ll make a mighty conflagration as he clings

To he and I, to make us ghost’

To haunt you until you join our horrible flings

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



Let’s aid and abet the blowing wind

To travel across the wretched sea

To clear the dust and misty mind

Of hate and killings they love to see


I can see their thoughts like words on a board

They make no attempts to conceal the lot

If we stand to watch these in their horrid accord

They’ll direct the wretched wind toward our spot 


When the lion’s skin is in high demand

The sheep must find a sure way to help

For if it so happens they can’t meet their demand

The sheep must shed its skin to help


I don’t want to be the foolish sheep

Who stands to watch skin-shedding when he owns a skin

I need to be able to soundly sleep

Without a thought to the future of my meat and skin

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


I am a black chalk

Chalks of all colours

Let’s join hands and draw a painting to stalk.

A painting to stalk inferiority complex,

A painting to stalk superiority,

A painting to stalk ethnocentrism

A painting to stalk racism

And haunt them until they land

In the traps of their hunters

Let’s give those hunters food,

And ourselves some peace for good.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



Willow Snow

Through my blues and apathy
You are my therapy
Liberating from my captivity
For an hour or more
Unwinding on the floor
Or resting in a chair
Left in a world all mine to explore
Ensaring me in rich dialect
Expanding my comprehension
Not to mention, My imagination!
Immersing me within a myhtical land
A captivating adventure til’ the very end


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I was once a decent lady,

All the members of my organization were

No matter how nasty any member was,

She wore an apparel,

An apparel of decency before stepping out

But I know not when time and civilisation

Staged a coup, a coup to have my kingdom naked

And in the public, paraded.

The worse part is, our hands are severed on inception

We are your slaves but keep us clothed

Who walks in this world in the full glare of eyes

And opened ears of many

Wearing noisy high heels in her nakedness?

I am the head of words,

All I plead for is decorum.

      Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


“Mother, did any one see God creating things?

Mother, if child births are painful,

Why didn’t God put the womb on males?

Mother, Why don’t all living things work by day?

Mother, is hell real or just a myth

To scare people into submission?

And mother, I want all explanations with scientific proofs”

What do I do?

Why so many mysterious things?

Must many things be shrouded in mysteries?

Now I have a question for you,

Why did You put curiosity in humans?

Did You do that to have them search for your well kept things?

Do You enjoy a game of hide and seek watching from heaven?

With that innocence, how do I say,

“Take them as they are, there are no explanations?”

We take off clothing upon clothing

When we cannot finish taking them off until our earth bell sounds,

How ridiculous!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



We cannot be the sun and moon

Whose shuttles orbit hundreds of miles

To keep their distances and painfully swoon

Light repels light no matter their differences

But this light wants to merge in a cocoon

With the light that is tearing its eyes

For its weak rays need yours to happily swoon

And sack the darkness which feels threatened and ready to kill.


I am not complacent 

I have no defences where you’re concerned

We’re different but our togetherness will be magnificent

Our first steps developed friction

Friction that was everything but descent

We speak from different times at the same time

Don’t even think of being reticent

No matter our times, we stand in unison, so please unburden you and me.

           Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



She lies there in her nakedness

Like one who knows no clothes

Caring not about the awkwardness

Of the eyes which peep through no protective clothes


All she cares about

Is what comes from her inner court

The inner court productions who keeping lives is all they’re about

So flow through her nakedness under no fort


She lies under the caring trees

The caring trees which shield her from the weather

But disrupts her flow by conniving with its heavenly counterparts for fees

Of purity and washing their impurities into her under the crying weather


Okuafuomu, the mummy water which feeds all farmers

And citizens alike

Oboman appreciate you, we hold no flyers

But Oboman thanks you for your patience and the taste they like


Our protective wall is no shield

You have no competition

All the others are your failed repetitions

You are just one in your field.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014

Note: From the Okuafuomu stream flows the tastiest of water any human can drink. It is in the Obo Township on the Kwahu Mountains of Ghana. It comes through stones and is shielded by trees. If you come to Ghana, you might want to just have a sip of the Okuafuomu water.


Hehehehe, one plus one is one

But what is this I hear?

That Paa Ekow wants a nice earthenware

To be his one and only bowl.

Not a bad idea, after all, a man must have a bowl

But, what is this I’m hearing?

That he wants a last-hand bowl?

This bowl I know, is no bowl to keep for a lifetime

Just last time, I saw Issifu, washing his hands in it

Before then, I saw Kwasi licking it dry,

A day before then, I saw Pee washing it after meals

Only for Yirenkyi to eat in it and like a vagabond leave it for the flies,

One time too, I saw the bowl being arrested by the town counsellor,

I am not lying oh, something about the he-goat Kojo, defecating into it,

I also saw Agbozo happily urinating into it

I also saw Konney washing his feet inside.

I nearly shattered it last time, but I knew it wasn’t my business

But look, like a new cock on a new land,

Paa Ekow picks only this bowl and foolishly parades it

In front of hands, feet and others who have washed

Whatever dirt there are on them in,

Kai! It really is the visitor who eats bad food without knowing

Area Asanka, the last-hand goods

He who know know go know soon ooh

Then trouble go crush

See them laughing, me, let me sit here and observe.

     Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.



Her hands are not for grabs

She is the cook, the cook for all mouths

Those hands cannot be broken like the legs of crabs

They must be together for the sake of all mouths


The cook cooks and the eater eats

What is this about one wanting all her bowls?

And what is that about the other wanting the hands as seats?

Hers are the only cooking hands and there’s only a set of bowls


What will happen if greed separates them?

Obviously, your stomach will suffer and so will mine

They are there for me, you, he, she and them

Have a thought, we will gain nothing from this, not a dime!

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014




I remember,

I remember loving the rain

Because it kissed dried leaves

And gave them lives,

It made love to the earth

And made it malleable

It also gave we the children

An opportunity to see the tears of God


I remember,

I remember loving the sun

For its neatness and light

It cooked the ground

To test our feet

And made us know

The importance of the

Bosom of the trees


I remember,

I remember my love for darkness

For grandma sat on her story throne

With trickles of fire-lights showing her face

And deepening the darkness at her back,

Like a muse, she poured down all the secrets of Kwaku Ananse; the spider

Who like a chameleon, went from doing good to being bad

And from being wise to acting foolish 


I remember,

I remember loving the farm.

The walk, I believed, strengthened my legs,

The beautiful rivers flowing through

Told me of stories from afar.

I loved the roasted coco-yams

Which were plucked from its mother root

And sent straight into the fire to enter the heaven of my mouth


I remember,

I remember the Africa to remember,

I remember the Virgin Africa,

I remember the African with untainted breeze

I remember the African that respected even the trees

Enough to apologise before cutting them down

I remember the Africa which fed thrills and smiles to her young

I remember the Africa lost in you and I.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014




what gives passion thoughts?

What gives passion feelings?

What gives passion the gestures it upholds?

Like a dead wood, I live,I eat, I drink, I sleep, I wake

Only for a repeat

The sages say listen to your heart,

The adages echo, find you passion

The society screams; “a bum you are”

Parents hide their faces in shame

Where are the wings of passion?

Can it be coerced to be attracted to me?

I hate the lenses I see in all eyes

Passion, passion, come way.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


It started like the whirlwind

Shifted from darkness by an unknown steam

This barrel wept seas of tears


And complained of being taken away by the wind

Now I cannot imagine your broad beam

As you looked into my steps in a few years


There were heavy barrels which capsized in the beam

There were lighter ones which over turned before the steam

There were those like me who’s content spilled and had no tears


But here I am, I say you’re kind

And can’t shed my broad beam

Thank you for leading me to you.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014





When my clouds formed in my sky

It called the rain, I saw with my eye

Then it called the storm

Which stormed with lightning


There was flooding and I was soaked

My umbrella flew away, I nearly choked

The rains camouflaged my tears 

So all they saw from afar was my soaked being


But soon the sky cleared

And my sun appeared

Amazing how men were the first to see

And came to kneel on my dry land

 Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


To my readers: Every sky tears up

                         And cannot shut the storms up

                         It doesn’t stay that way forever

                          All we need is to give it time

                          So don’t mind my rhyme.

                          Whatever it is you’re going through,

                          Just know after the rain, the sun will shine.



Trading chastity for a dime

Dogmatic audacity for a rhyme

Pimping vanity for a mime

Brutal insanity for a thyme

Selling veracity for a prime

I need to keep my sanctity


Trading amity for a dime

Humping sanity for a crime

Hailing mendacity for a good time

Insane profanity for a chime

Consuming fatality for a grime

I need to keep my sanctity


Trading quality for a lime

Complacent banality for a rhyme

Un-candid gravity for a slime

Good morality must be exchanged for the crime

Human taciturn pushed to curb the acrid horrid grime

This way or that, I need to keep my sanctity

      Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


Why does it change?


I smiled knowing the preposterousness

Of the raining promises


The smiles from the heart

Lighting the eyes


The heat from our bodies like mild fire from the

Fireplace in the cold being enough

To protect us from the cold


The cold sweat breaking on a cold day,

The impatient feeling on my part

To have ten fingers merge with mine


The security of hands to catch my every fall,

Why does it change?

The childish play that took us ten years back in time


The extinction of smell and dirt

From our noses and eyes

Why does it change?


Change should be good, not bad

So how did it get to this?

Are those feelings humans with mood swings?


Gosh, I can’t believe it can leave 

With its place being owned by regrets

Lord of cupid, have a talk with me.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


She holds a contagious beam

A beam like steam,

Which she gives freely


She tends to a farm,

A farm benevolent like heaven,

Which kills all hunger but hers


She keeps a peaceful bed

A bed as comfortable as the purest wool

Which has room for all but her


She has gifted hands

Hands like that of angels

Which heal all but herself


She possesses a beautiful handkerchief

A handkerchief like a comforter

Which wipes all tears but hers


No hands ever open for her

No eye ever sees her

None bothers with what she feels


She’s just a helper who must be milked dry

Yes, the helper, no matter how much she bleeds

She is the  lonely traveller.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


Sauntering in gutters

Abysmal whiffs walk proudly and shatters

Noses, avoiding hoses, holds hands

With flies which feast happily on caked defecations

As the mosquitoes sing happy melodies on me


A toad takes advantage of darkness and winds

The throats of others to make them bullhorns to fit the situations

Situations of the lantern flies, of sleeping infants and I

But I dawdle in its peace, seeing as they are better

Than the brightness of many hypocritical teeth


A roar walks on its hind legs

Its voice being the benevolent warner.

Still sauntering, no rush

What is there to see?

The pain of my broken bones in cannibalistic mouths?


That’ll be for a few minutes

Then peace will talk

Of my non-existence

There will be no appetisers of fear and taunts

Neither will there be pepper to garnish my eyes


Sauntering with mind musings

A bit amusing, the injections of these insects

Funny, the peace with which the infants sleep

Without the knowledge of the theft of the mosquitoes

Streetism stench and pride deserves a boasting.

     Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014