Some call me a worm
Some call me a poor pet
Others call me an unbaked yam
But I am the bread winner of my home

With opened mouths of 7
Waiting for the manna from my sweat
I am like their goddess of harvest
I am like the air they breathe
I am like their shield and shelter
So compare me not to a rag
I am that flag leading them on in life

The power of lives of robbers and killers
Lie in my little hands
If I fall, they take their swords
So I sell iced water
I crack stones into “kanana” and “abuga”
I wash chop bar bowls
I race with cars to get some coins
While my neck balance my head’s heavy wear
“Fooos, koobi, maize, yam, soft drinks, vegetables,  groundnuts and firewood”
I shout them all
Calling buyers who buy
Angering ones who hate the noise
Getting whips from those who show their wares
And you call me a thing?

I feel the slaps
I see the rapes
I feel the heat
I feel the cold
I feel the hawks wanting my bones
I am a visitor unfortunate
A visitor to a home of naught
Like a chicken, I work fearing the hawks
Fearing the cars
Fearing mostly humans
Whose aim is to taste me in their soups and stews
I fear my shadow
But I work on like a bull
I am helpless in the belly of the street
The street which has carnivorous teeth
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

By amoafowaa

Just a simple Ghanaian trying to find the best in our society. I may be fun, I may be interesting, I may be funny, I may even be foolish or intelligent, but it is all based on the mood in which you find yourself. I believe our minds make us who we are. Know that, pain, no matter its 'unbearability', is transient. Unburden or delight yourself for a while in my writings please. And all corrections, advice and opinions are welcome. Know that you are the king, queen or royal on this blog. :)

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