STRUCK

I thought I was Kwaku Ananse
I had it all together
After having the wisest Asante men learn from me
To clothe themselves beautifully
So hid and struck intruders
Showed and flawed the confident
Worked to uproot the rude
Who acted like “kwabenani atu ata”
Knowing not a master planner lurked
One unaffected by nothing
Not my craft
Nor my danger
Not my seclusion
Nor my drive
And could shake off my intimidations
Like untainting dirt on an unsoilable cloth
Torn between Russia and nearness
This heart feels the heat of a fall
It feels the strain of ripping a heartful heart apart
It feels the danger of breaking a godlike figure
By a force that forces him to need to break me
Like an untamed horse
Only to want me placed in a queenly seat
One who could never be
I keep musing to myself
One who must not be
I keep telling myself
One who should not be
But one whose net seems to have caught
All the right words of combat out of me
It is a hurricane closing in on a little tsunami
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015