Strange range
Change arranges not emotions
It scatters to litter in bitter happiness
Or happy bitterness
Like a painter who is colour blind
Then carves familiarity like a new wife
And makes all humans new husbands
II
strange range
Wigs were once wicked spirits’ possessions
Which needed days of emptied stomachs
To deliver in heavenly exorcisms
Now like Godly decorations
They turn pigs and monkeys into beings
Defecating on nature into oddity
III
Strange range
Lipsticks were once blood of demons
Skimpy clothes, apparels from the seas
Fake nails, claws of devilish lionesses
Nail polish, skins of Satan
Patronisers of these, mermaids of sea goddesses
Now fashion is their crown
As they step on naturals like their foot mats
Strange range indeed!
 Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016
Mum Cee 