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


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


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

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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