Times have travelled
Travelled far
But what the seers see
In closed eyes
Even the tallest man alive
Will never see with million eyes wide opened
So they speak not in plains

Poetry is not naked words
For thoughtless prostitutes
Neither is it naked wires
To shock into reality fools with no eye thoughts
It is words fetched from pots of wisdom
Ones sages seek to open
And open to pick
And pick to unwrap
And unwrap to digest
Tasting every bit of its ingredients
To get all its tastes

Conversations desire no riddles
Words flow and walk anyhow without modelling
Poetry is like wines of riddles
Which model on stages of the learned
Their frame so beautiful
Their clothings so dense
Their strikes burdens to thinking heads

If poetry were a sky
It would be a moonless sky
With clouds
Which need time and patience
As minds battle through dawn
To light the sun of understanding
To fetch its clear colours

If poetry were water
It would be clouds
It takes so much to get down
To bless the earth
In understanding and fertility

Every hand which learns can write
Every mouth with sound can speak
But true poets, like spiders, weave their words in clothes of wisdom
Hiding intriques
In high corners of thoughts’ skies
Begging to be chased
And used

Poetry is no child’s play
It plys no roads of loose mouths
And thoughtless tongues
It is reserved
Reserved only for the dignified
Branding non-thinkers weak
As they lose their ways to their entrance
Never finding their routes

Poems are gems
Hidden in cages of words
Legs of veins
Chase through darks
Hands of blood
Tear through webs
Skulls so strong crack to reach
It sure is medicine for elitist minds
Scribes of the future
Paintings of reflections
Which when unravelled
Remedy to bless
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016

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