We can never know
The pure prayers of whimpering crickets
No matter the force behind their voices

Like paintings with no colorful inks
We can never know
The real colours of clothes
Worn by our forefathers
As they stood to pose for the cameras
Only glad to leave their images, no matter how bleak, behind

We can never know
The real skin tone of peacocks
Who lift their shoulders of feathers
Like egoed men ready to battle

Minds have many lost histories
And eyes can do nothing to help
Cuffs of limited knowledge imprison our sights
Making us grope like blind men in serene places
Mistaking hard stones for gold
It is the cursed blessings of beginners
Giving us blurred sightfulness
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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