In this lonely cloth
Are the fingers of cold
The channels of heat of when I will be sold
By the price tag society has placed
On my determined mind

In this cloth
Are thoughts playing pi lo loo
Only without the happy giggles
Shrivelling the grounds of peace

In this cloth
Are fears of horrors stepping out of screens
To soil my innocent dreams
Hoping I wake with screams
When my fear brims

In this cloth
Is the knife of quietude
Which is experimenting with the beauty of success
On the chopping board of doubts
Could it be I am like a great baobab tree
Whose leaves serve as delicacies in soups
Seeds produce cool drinks in fruits
But its tree considered as a spirit to be feared?

I fail to fall
I am the child carved partly from stone
And moulded partly from the mud of River Bremu
None will scare me from this road
I am born for this road
And I will so ply
No matter the horrors
In this cloth which shines for other eyes
But hammers on nails within
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

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