Quack quack quack
The voices of ducky deceits sing
Like a choir in symphony
In temples haunted by God
Monies from impoverished pockets
Cry for their owners
From bellies to clothes
To shoes to watches
To cars to perfumes
On parodies of preachers
Ghosts of stomachs haunt houses of worship
Pernury taunts clever minds of tricksters deemed real
Claps in worship aimed at poor Satan
Fetching fires on leaders of the demonstration
What an irony!
I am sure Satan soliloquys his fun
Seeing the comedy of disasters
On podiums of supposed praises
How many temples are marked
For the fun of the fallen angel?
How many of his disciples lead mock
Demonstrations of his opponent?
How many souls are harvested for his storage in a minute?
Oh how many births float from his seductions
Of Marys’ turned Eves?
How many heads lie prostrate to him
For the sake of cash?
I can’t think of the tongues that mean
“Caught, slayed, hanged, fetched”
Could it be
“Hiri baba makye matwa masen, masa, hirididididididi?”
How many truthful ones still live
Under the umbrellas of trust?
None sees the diamonds in filth
God’s cane awaits much whipping
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 21, 2016