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

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