Many animals live in the jungle
With varied sounds
Sounds counter annoying
But what can they do
When each has its place therein?

Lions roar but hate the hooting of owls
Owls hoot but fear the roars of lions
Varied birds chirp
Surprisingly,  they internalize their hatred
Some complaining pitches high
Some accusing bass tunes in scares
But what can one do
When the jungle is but one?

Pigs love their dirt
Peacocks love their neatness in pride
Snakes roam on stomachs
Guinea fowls hop on two legs
Thanking their maker in shrill tones
For added wings
Antelopes hop on four legs
Monkeys love their trees
Bats sleep hanging on their legs
As elephants love their water and mud
All have but a jungle
Who ejects who without strength
Or need to feed?

Frogs hide to croak
Lizards nod on stages of eyes
Sheep love their grass
Hyenas love their meat
Monkeys love their fruits
Rats and rabbits love their holes
Warthogs love to explore
Whereas elephants shake their grounds
To warn their enemies
Snakes soundlessly creep onto theirs
As bees give chase in vengeance
Ants wisely feed and gather for their future
Vultures feed to empty thinking today ends all feeding
Still, one jungle
Varied creatures
Loving or hating
Share they must!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 30, 2016


Shadows wake tall
To shorten to tall
Begging clocks to save their height
But tick tock
Is a rhythm unbreakable
Its heels sing to break many hearts

To beg time
Do beg yourself
To hop on its speed
Like a good passenger
To reach destinations in time
To dance to its chime
Life is but a rose today
But moulded rot tomorrow
Rots sweepeable by loving hands
Into hidden bins
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 29, 2016


Rains are digging trenches
On needy benches
Stirring the innocent ground
To interrupt the vision of itchy mouths

Suns are heating water
Waking vapours to the loiter
Generating sweat on tan crazed fans
Who parade on crowded shores

Thunders have lost their lanes
Cracking stomachs in their mains
Forcing belching to lose its way
Through a channel which many decay

Airs turn winds and turn tsunamis
Dust turn soil and turn mud
Rains turn water and turn flood
Faith turn fate and turn state
Life goes on nevertheless
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 28, 2016


Too many branches
Are weighing it down
Left, right, up
Around and down
Other trees are branchless
And tall they grow
These branches are heavy
Heavier in vow
Bees, birds, flies
The tree doth sigh

Birds sit to chirp
Birds fly to play
Birds build their nest in
Their droppings getting a mapping
As some choral display

Snakes snake to hide
Snakes snake to prey
Snakes snake in exercise
To scare birds away
Even rodents try to join
Shuttling in, out and in

Many rush to be shaded
Many climb for fruits
Many cut its bark
Leaving sores to play
This one tree is in a hustle
And will fall by winds one day
If none sees its hustle
Its fall will cause dismay
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


I am a hunter
A hunter who hunts a hunter
But this hunt haunt hunters
As fiery hunters hunt their game

I met a fisherman in hunt
He made a bait
And an imaginary water
And placed me center stage
Loving my swim as fishes swim in nets
When caught with no escape

I met a real hunter in hunt
Whereas I held a heart
He held a gun
Coupled with an arrow
And an annoying catapult
Making me the trapped
In his little trap
Playing with my toil
Loving my blood in soil dripping

I met a dog in hunt
It worked as a stooge part time
But all it did was bark
Scaring off the cowardly and self respecting
Calling the engaged
Waking the asleep
To see to its wolf crying where chickens played
As I watched helplessly

I met a chameleon in a glassland
As I got closer it pretended to be me
At any change of clothe
It copied to the tee
I never knew its colour
Copying was its hallmark
Wearing shoes of all in pretence was its dutiful duty
Until it saw another with an interesting colour
And followed like a slave

I met a lion in hunt
Its roars sent all enemies falling
And friends flying south
In my loneliness
It roared till shivers pierced holes of fright
In my flying kite
Bringing me down from my loving sky
Until legs found the strength to flee

I met a hunting lizard
Who was a nodding king
All it did was nod at every resting step
Always saying nil
Branding me queer
And crawling on grounds marked for stonning
Until its dodging skills failed
As it was consumed by the forest
At the hands of an unknown

I still hunt the hunting
Fearing all the ranting
Walking and running in panting
As my rhythms do the chanting
What kind of hunter hunt to be hunted
And risks being haunted
In a thick jungle so daunting?
Did I hear a bird chirp in calling?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 28, 2016


If only I were your mirror
Showing you your reflection
You will see the beauty right here
And extinguish your fears
As skilled firemen kill their dangers

I wish you see
The bold you
Who like Sampson
Battle the lions of every breath
The fearless soul
Who like David
Conquer all Goliaths
With just a catapult and stones
The adorable spirit
Who like Nelson Mandela
Submit to cuffs emasculating
Just to score a moral point
And climb to the Everest of positions
To write his name on the vast sky
Never to be forgotten
I wish you see
I wish you see

I wish you see
The beautiful bloom in full daylight
Surrounded by shadows hailing and covetous
Loved by hearts seen and unseen
Watched by legs crawling, walking and running
I wish you see
I wish you see

I wish you see
The praying mantises praying with their last breaths
For half of what you are
I wish you see
I hope you see

You are looking into muddy waters
With a revered reflection
Look here
Look into me
To see you
The you that is
The you who is
The you who have always been
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 28, 2016


Kola and cowries and water and seats
Fight against our moving beats
A little for one
A call to many
Culture cheats as misers feed

If all buttocks that seats do carry
Treat it well to make it swell
Its dirt would diminish as its bones get cover
But ‘adjeiii’ its creaks
Sing in freaks
As bad air baths
Into a dirty old rust
Oh soilings are salts to its injuries unseen
Culture ties goodness just like goats
On its custom tree

Whose stomach claims a full harvest
On this worried decorous land?
Whose mouth owns a full load
In this jolly comic trek?
Whose party floods no buzzing flies?
Oh goats of the land
Tied by pastoring laws
Quench your flaws
To tend to your sores
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


They were once fruits so green
On trees so powerful in thought
Feeding to be fed
Decorating to be watched
Thoughtful to all
Until age wiped their memory discs
Leaving their computers empty tins
For scrap dealers and legs of children
Now you watch like your comedy
Drawing conclusions in spiritisms?

No one knows where the vehicle
Of age will stop to offload
Its goods of life
No one knows when the creator
Will swipe the ripe scribe
Off minds on knowledge trees
Just as witches fly in myths
Ills walk in myths
None sees to dodge
None feels to dock
So bottle the ill

Bottle the ill with a ‘flying’ tag
Bottle the toiling with a ‘kayiri-kayiri’ label
Let sufferers turn ‘good comers’ but badly received
Pray not to be a fable
In a story with moral tables
Enhanced by your voice
Erected by your choice
At the stadium of gossip
Sipping the troubled bile
Is nothing I pray for
Not even for hounds
Hounding innocent souls into sad graves
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September, 27, 2016


Most cocks walk comb high
As hens dig for worms
When they spot a hawk
And crow for cover
Their wings become gods of shelter
Ordering for variety hens in roosting
Why can’t cocks lay few eggs?

Why can’t cocks lay few eggs
And sit hungry to heat to hatch?
Why can’t cocks hatch their chicks
And have whining followings
In worry and work?
Why can’t cocks be the chased
And have the job of running for chastity?
Why can’t cocks?
Why cant cocks?
Why can’t cocks wail to notify the world
Of all matches played and scored
Into anal bursting eggs?
It isn’t fair
How easily, they, in freedom fly
Oh what a knot on our many nots!!!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


It is our belief
That like a being hiding behind a partition
He hides behind the sky

It is our unconscious belief
That he holds a potent telescope
Watching all deeds at once

It is our odd belief
That He has a path to his abode
Paths solely definite from our stance
And made through sacrificial humans
Who lived in miracles and braveness
If even our houses have different paths to them
Why would His be different?

In order to reach Him
Many step on others
Forgetting same clay
Same fingers
Same vision of marked expectations for each

None thinks us a draft
A draft each in rightful spaces
But competitions in conflict
Not even in singing harmony
Citing Him as the crude alpha
Forgetting consciences are not found in jungles

He who is the air
And shares it fair
Showing He, for all cares
Is made speechless but still His work dears
Dipped in misconceptions
Smeared in riots and wars
He sure must live in sad aura
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 24, 2016


Your feet move in bounce
Like rains ascending and descending the realms of heaven
Your hands weave unseen webs
As the spider skillfully weaves its home
Your body rhymes with apt chorus
And you sing like one whose vocals
Have been declogged by the almighty Satan
As other hands beat the sounding hell out of me
Where lies fairness in this realm of chaos?

I lived in beauty
My skin a sight to see
I jumped and hummed
To the rhythms of my movement
Only time I needed a tree
Was to scratch my back
Or chew its leaves
Now my skin lives tied to a carved tree
As my body rots through varied intestines unknown
Where lies fairness in this realm of chaos?

That poor static tree
Whose mobility lies beneath the ground
Moves my hardened skin up and down
Feeling whips of canes
When need be
Shielding my hell
Where did I go wrong?

Beat me as much as you like
You hands tasked with slapping duties
Feel me as duly as you want
You legs ecstatic in hopping showmanships
Judge me as much as you need
You ears tasked with sound hunting
Only remember
I was once a happy antelope
Living in beauty
And loving nature
With no hurting trait
Until my poor body tasted the sharp sword
Of a cruel hunter
Losing my all in his jubilation
Beat me, Abena, for I am finished
Beat me to bursting like a poor bubble
Just know mortality owes you naught
And will stand in glee
When your hunter’s effective gun hunts you
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016

GAME OF BETRAYAL (Crazy Stanzas)

Laughter boils on fires of pity
When mice speed in armyhood
In support of the enstoolment of cats
Forgetting they are their edibles

Don’t thoughts, like farmers
Dig their reasoning farms
To grow fear on trees of their scatterings?

When planted promises
Knock on my ears
I wail in happiness
Don’t these mice know cats have “unsteppable” places?
Places which turn them fallen, chewables or corpses?
But like infants who swell at the
Hearing of pleasant lies
They ride harder

It is frustrating watching the best dragged
By their tails
When the fore suits them best
What at all is the name of the draft
Where the eaten empowers the eater?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


When winds run errands of whispers
To pores of unattached
Hairs bare their fangs
Like dogs in attacking mode
But goosebumps give their protected out
Cold wins in its test of need
How sad

Cold has released its lions and lionesses
To pounce on needs in this upper zone
And ravage unowned lands
Hunting in every pore
To mark with claws of experience
Lessons unforgettable

I know many will cave in to its torture
And move to rupture hymens
Built like fortresses
Or left like forests
Waiting for angels to pave paths for prayers
Or for akatakyies to pour for them hearty libations

I know many tails will break chains
Sniffing where paws hover
Clinging where fires dance
Hopping where needles tread
Crying on bellies where macho feet stomp
As fearlessness leads some to hunt
In beds of executioners

I can’t say much for crying poles
Whose tears will wet their thready gates
And penetrate blankets to bliss dreams
Only to pinch awareness in self embarrassments
Well, where no third eye watches
Normalcy will reign

Why cold sits like a whipping god in late September
I cannot tell
All I know is
It sure is up to no good
And might fill pots in houses
Already filled to the brim
Costing many mouths hunger and regrets
As previously possessed mothers
And fathers stand on stands of blame
Laying accusations upon accusations in June/July
While cold docks behind the fierce sun
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 22, 2016.


Eyes see no shine in closeness
Noses smell no purity around lotuses
Hands feel no warmth in bests
Distance is like the catalyst of awareness
Oh how vengeful time proves to be!

Kwasi said she was like a board
Any posting on it was seen to
Ama said she was a t. roll
Which had seen many many rears
And so reeks of their smear
Awuku said she was the dummy
One whose brain needed a nanny
While Akrofi pelted stones at her

Her worth was seen
When the weather called her under its shade
To rest and reflect
And rise into her shine
Her boldness now opens mouths
Her strides put hearts in race competitions
Her beauty stupify her noted bullies
The right words are codified on the regret board
None sees shine under their umbrella
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


You sit like bloated bread
With cuffed fingers in the air
Calling attention and claiming hold
Of a healthy hottie breed
Are you the only hungry fish in the sea?

You have paid hands to wash and clean
With instruction as your only deed
Who but a fool will serve a flu?
Wake your buttocks and shed your shrew

It is funny
How you see no competition
In a race many have fallen
Complacency is a soft weed
Whose hoes abound
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 19, 2016


Did the gods foretell your birth
As Jesus’s was foretold in Biblical words?
Did your pa, like a dragon
Ride the night of blessitude
To hatch a fruit so fiery to lead?
If love loves the love it gives
This Ghanaian house loves the day
The mouth of a blessed whale
Vomited you onto its shores
If your ancestral soul stands to celebrate
We say
Afihyeapa o o!

None wakes a sleeping soul
To see the ruins of his empire
If you were the warrior whose mind
Like multitudes, defeated complacent oppressors
Even in fragile breath
Surely, your Ghostliness can work close
With Highnesses of the gods
In ancestral lands
To navigate better our sinking ship

Won’t it be better if the ships you loved to yoke together
Held hands in your mortal dreams
To stand like Afajato
To hit the pate of pathetic corruption into death?
Won’t you feel proud
If you hover our skies to suck out stoogehood
And raise our eyes to see our wealthy worth?
Can we not run
If our knees stem our thighs
Rather than licking floors for poisonous crumbs?
You know we celebrate yet review
Afi o afi!

Warrior of blessedness
Is there no chant to force waists
To clear their inheritance and plant their dreams?
Swordbearer of intelligence
Won’t you love a feast fit for your Excellency
When you walk through the memory
Of your outdooring?
Oppresors’ Oppression
Can you calm the whims of power
In peace shower
To help sanity tower?
Afihyeapa o o!
You know amamre
We celebrate to petition

I know your brave grave cries to save
I know your spirit, a body craves
I know you hunt tirelessly in our dangerous caves
To salvage what is left of your gave
But your state makes you no seeable Dave
Osabarima a ogye osa!
Afi o Afi!

Afi o afi!
Stay in shape and hunt our lions
And all our predations!
Afihyeapa o Doctor!
Cake our sanities and make us strong!
Osagyefo Nkrumah ei!
As you grow even in history
Make food for all eaten by few
Poisonous and heart plucking
So you will wake into a healthy farm
As your time embarks on another journey
To find the body of another born day
Hidden in calculated numbers
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 20th September,  2016


What do You not see at your worship?
Fancy clothes hiding tempts
Who boldly stand as vying angels
With mischief in wallets of their hearts

What do You not see at your worship?
Skillful and hungry pythons
Acting like prophets bitten by the famous holy ghost
Of course, how else can they get the unsuspectings to swallow?

What do you not see at your worship?
Screaming snakes
With tongues spewing carefully made ink
Faking words from Your unknown bed chambers

What do You not see in Your high seat?
Watchful and shameless cats
Who manage to guard meaty coffers
Wearing darkness of paws
To feed fat from Your frying pot

What do You not see at Your worship?
Insatiable hunters who act like game
Wearing masks of sheep
Baaaa-baaaring festive lovers
Into caves fit for their bullets

What do You not hear at Your worship?
Unmatched symphonies of needs
Battling themselves
Like die hard warriors
On deadly battlefields

How do You feel at Your worship?
As You watch fowls target corns
As hawks target the fowls
When eagles have already targeted hawks
Seeing the arrows in gauge for eagles?

I wish to wear an eye
To put on Your ear piece
To stand at Your viewpoint
Just for few seconds
To see the plot of your worldly script
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 18, 2016



Have you volunteered today? Let’s #volunteeringh for #NVDay.

September 17, 18, 21, 24, 25, etc.

There are various activities happening in Ghana.

See them @
You can also find some via the @GhanaThink Foundation’s Ghana Volunteer Program page and the Ghana Volunteer Program group on Facebook.
@volunteeringh on Twitter.
The hashtag is #NVDay16

Have you volunteered today? Let’s #volunteeringh for #NVDay. See more @ #NVDay16

Buy Books by Amoafowaaa Sefa Cecilia on Amazon



“Her head did not fall within the norms of beautiful heads, it had two chambers and a frontal porch, (something far from the round head society deemed beautiful) and her physique was nothing to write home about. She was skinny to the bone and those bones were glaringly conspicuous. She raised her head to the silent and terrified stares from the sophomores and the final year students. She knew she was not beautiful, but she didn’t think she was that ugly until she saw the looks on their faces as they watched her”

Rigo Tales is your classical high school story retold to you in all its ramifications with the crude edges intact. Set in the cold Kwamo highlands, the inexorably thickening plot launches the reader on an excitingly breath-taking trek down the memory lane. At each turn and curb, what counts for the reader is the ring of authenticity.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia excels at pacing her narrative, which races forward, mirroring the frenetic lives chronicled; school boys and girls swept up in the bewildering change; the almost stoic persona of Abena seeking solutions to problems never faced before, the humanity of GKA the prim and proper school head teacher, the relentlessness of Ogunsa, the happy-go-lucky and mean Nipasco group; all melting into that bottomless pot called Kwamo Rigo.

Perhaps, what makes this book a  breezy read that keeps you devouring the pages and yearning for more, is the courage of conviction, strength of character and love for family that encapsulates the very existence of the ugly-headed yet sweet-spirited protagonist. She affirms life while admitting its turbulence, melodramas and misfiring passions.

A solid meaty tale that does not disappoint; dramatic, suspenseful.  The smooth reading makes it easy to forget the time and keep flipping the pages.

Amoafowaa Sefa knows how to wring the emotion out of the briefest scene and I am so honoured to foreword this book.

Chris Worla Essikpe

Lecturer, African University College of Communications – Accra


Also on Amazon:


(Also to all new writers in Ghana, you can contact Nana Awere Damoah to help you publish on Amazon for a small fee. Contact him through Facebook.)

Know that for each book you buy, 30% of proceeds goes to support the Autism Help Foundation. Thank you)


There was a time
When stories, like scary whips
Ruled the consciences of growing heads
Declawing the roaring
Un-canining monsters
Lighting dark hearts
Strengthening the weak
Shaping faults into saintly vaults
Spirits in story clothes!
Did we leave them for myths undecipherable?

Our ancestors were wise
So wise in most
That we could actually boast
But the boastables turned roastables
As civilisation enticed stealing of habits so alien to our realms
Now very green leaves
Have demystified curiosities of new marital bliss
Weakening the bones of beds
Long before fours are handcuffed into them
Where did sanity leave us for banalities?

No buttocks of the young
Graced the pates of chairs while the old stood
No ears of the growing
Were found close to places where mouths of the grown played
No sound of the young crashed adult discipline, anger or complain
No elderly head
Entertained loads at the sight of a youngster
All elders parented
All children consented
Westernizing Ghananiasms into Africanisms?
How good are the servings on modern plates?

Who opened the colonial gate?
There are hot coals on our pates!
Who made this horror bait?
How many can stand the chaotic dates?
Who changed our beautiful fate into slave crates?
Isn’t there too much to hate?
When did all age become mates?
At this rate, isn’t it getting late?
I can hardly stand the revolutionary wait
State the traits on the reality slate

Exhume the ancestral torches of rightness
To help find the paths long deserted
Water the dead plants of cool history
To get us into the right chemistry
Sound the bells our nature knew
To get sanity in our crew
We were not blind followers of white robes
We were Afris who could
Who says we still can’t?
I say we can, Can and CAN!!!
Who says sankofa is a path un-treadable?
Realization is all it takes!!!
It is not a meal with allergies!!!
Dead firewood needs just a little flame to light!!!
No abomination hovers its estate!!!
So let’s be sankofied
To uproot the hydra that modernity plants
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 9, 2016


Explorations of the past
Led to greedy seeds sewn like monster plants
Monster plants which grew to take what it never owned
Cruel “beela” traps were set up
In black hunt
Aims of strength harvest causing mean arrests
As molestations manifested in attestations
Ah! Chained beings turned to dogs
Were forcefully pulled to hop like frogs
Painful reminiscencing!

Humans in flesh were boxed like sardines
Into tins of ships
Forcing airs to flee and
Causing many to lose their breaths
The poor dead were tossed into seas to feed grateful fishes
As their lands yearned for their hands in tilling
In worse scenarios, begged for their royal remains in its crying womb
Who did not know of the tears of the black innocent lands?
Lands coerced into a huge dungeon of poverty?

Dog foods that fed jewels of grieving mothers
Carnivorous whips that bit into fleshes with great spirits
Names of originalities metamorphosed into alienisms
As bodies, spirits and souls
Stood naked under crying skies
Inspected like hoes and machetes, dish washers
Pleasure holes, gun shields
How can living things be turned into robotics
And sold into houses to battle their lots
Now you need them gone?

Wake your dead to wake their stolen
To conjure the thorns which bit into fleshes
Holding their mouths to vomit them out
To fix on their rightful bodies
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
To fix their callouses and even their skins
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
To sow back virginities meanly stolen from saints
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
Preparing them in their birth surnames to the lands of their birth
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
To dive into seas and bellies of fishes to piece the pieces of the tossed expired
Giving them lives to be returned in full to their roots
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
Chanting wrongfully spilled blood from pores of the earth
Into their respective vessels
Wake your dead to right their wrongs
Backtracking time to erase hurts of loss from haunted heads and wombs
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
Evaporating your heavens like air into its forest of thorns
After quenching their greed
So you can be reared like the stolen to build your glitters
Then, none will evade your space
No head will care about your existence
No erased root will be stuck in its replants
As our innocence revert to supremacy in our heaven intact

Oh you who wake lion bites of pain in animosity!
You who wake monstrous dreams pushed into stalls of forgetfulness!
You whose fear of extinction make you human beasts!
If you cannot wake your dead for the change you seek
Let all your mouths lose their sounds of grumbling
Let all your disdain dissipate
Into blames of your ancestral games
Let all your murderous intents vanish
Like un-judicious dreams in wake
Let all your awareness of colour be nonexistent
You live in the paintings of your predecessors
There is nothing wrong with a farmer reaping his harvest
You are the traces of shifted usurpers now usurped
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 8, 2016


Drama queens!
Drama kings!
Great script writers!
Writers of comedies!
Writers of tragi-comedies!
Writers of tragedies!
Melodramatic heretics
You are all that and more!

How can you analyse the un-happened?
Quantify the unneeded?
Conclude unwritten stories?
Conjure nonexistent characters?
Stage ridiculous battles
And conquer the bravest in abstract?

You are the most vengeful parts
Ones who flip and turn hearts like roasted ripe plantains on wire nets whipped by happy fires
You are the most restless parts
Ones who work and work
In consciousness and unconsciousness
Like plugged robots by the Creative God
You are the most delusional part
Ones whose unsettlement affect all
But your hard work pays off
Making stars out of wholes

Tone down you workaholics!
Not everything needs stages with scripts
Lie low you botherholics!
Not everything needs reins
To make hearts horses in thorny jungles
Be sensible you drama royals
Most smoothies lie in hard work
And not in fairytales!
Misconceptions kill some joys
Be fair and pair
You sure are leaders
But leaders need more patience than impulse
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 7, 2016


There is a reason
Muscles grow on breakable voices
There is a reason
Chests flatten in hardened choices
There is a reason
Chins are visited by weeds
Which can scare or be trimed to call for care
Onyankopon Tweadeampong is never a slack
His creations never lack tact

How else would there be hunters
To hunt to feed
When eggs become too heavy to carry?
How else would the sack of life
Strapped as load for life
Be carried into devinity?
How else would there be charm
Well, some to cause harm
And others to sound cool alarms?

Oh heads turned mostly by necks
You have the eyes
To light to lead
You have the nose
To breathe to live
You have the mouth
To eat to feed
You have the ears
To listen in direction
Above all the creatures seen
No wonder society crowned you king
King of this jungular earth
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 3, 2016


Fickle are hearts that need
With no desire to feed
Fickle are wayward deeds
With no forming change seeds
If humans see through acts
And like judges, conclude diggers and real
Who are you to deceive God?

Most prayers are like one way streets
Ones asking vehicles ply
Never a chance of showing hearts
Never a chance of gratitude
Never a chance of kind depictions
What do you say of hands
Always stretched from pockets
And folded back in travel?
Even the gods are bribed to listen

Hunter-owners of dogs
Expect some game from their paws
At some points in their hunts
The back of donkeys feel each weight
But quietly, their mouths close to serve
Who are you to ask in succession
When the one you ask
Has felt none but your aggression
As your worship are like rituals from rote learning
So rushed for the big greed

“Kill my enemy!”
Owula, are you the only created?
“I step on Satan!”
Awuraa, how big are your legs?
“I spit on the devil”
Charley, you no dey fear?
“God I am disappointed”
Oh, you dey bore?
Go to Antoa Nyamaa with these
And see how many cows, goats and chickens meet death at your request
And how empty your pockets cry
Into the future of hunger!
Be wise!
God is not mocked
For today
Pour a libation of His rest
Say a prayer for His wellbeing
Perform Salat in His honour
If we are as He is
He sure will love some pampering
We have been diggers for long
Let’s change our hurting song
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 4th September 2016


My tongue is pampered
Like a mushroom on an anthill
Crowned by the fertile farms of mother nature
Ghana, my motherland!

So much do they give
Plants and trees
Leaves and all
Yam boils to accommodate many
My favourite; “potogum hwiegum”
Led by the great garden eggs
With koobi as angels at post
Add an egg with palm oil
And all is set in pepper-field
What heavens lie in the land!

Need I mention banku and its many suitors?
Ah! That feeling when it meets okra soup
With momoni as its unseen lavender
Wele, its unshakable soldiers
Crabs, its lion-delicio- accompaniment
Add “ademe”
Nutrition complete
Am I not a pampered tongue?

I so love tuo zaafi
Its green-green
Coupled with “stomach things” of cows and goats
Add dawadawa
And even Satan will lie low to enjoy
My teeth are just too happy
To be blessed with their passing
Ghana Ghana my motherland!

Oh fufu fufu fufuo!
Like breast milk mixed with honey for a new born
Casava meets plantain; my favourite
Palm nut soup graced
Add mpu-nam
Snails on guard
Some accompanying mud fish
A salmon or two
Kai! You dare not talk
When the men visit “wala-beley” temples
And sit to dine
Eating in fixed postures as hands work wonders
Says it all
Ghana Ghana Ghana!!!

“Brode a asunson”
Palava sauce
Akple and “abobi-tadi”
Abenkatenkonto and face the wall
Mpotonmpoto; yams and cocoyams
Akyeke and pear
Abolo or
Asante banana
Kube in all its vitamins
Oranges sweet and sour
Watermelons from Nalerigu
Pawpaw blessed with brightness
Mangoes, all in their seasons
Shea nuts and black berries
Pineapples and sugar cane
Can I mention them all?

I am a queen in a royal country
Everything is deli-fantastic
And healthy
Ghana my motherland
Delicasweetbliss galore!!!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 2, 2016


I need, need and need
The love they speak of
I want to be a cassava
And meet a plaintain, yam or cocoyam
And together be pounded
In the mortars of life by its pestles
And blend in the perfect fufu

I need, need and need
I need the friction of missing
Photographic memories of past
Written in happy inks
With smiles that led to laughter
Laughter that led to happy tears
Culminating into fantasies in open eyes

I need need and need
Those kisses
Which hunt hisses
From the jealous noses of fed up heads
I need the roses too happy to smile its last
In my shivering hands
That wait
Too bubbly
That my blood dance in vein shake
That anticipation
Too vivid that lips kiss the skies
That feeling of belonging
In the midst of longing

I need, need and need
That unbreakable intuition in oneness
Those talks which anger all phones into hotness
Those sweet nothings which plant giggles
And harvest love

I need, need and need
The sync
Like swans on a clear sea
The flight
Like doves in the clear cool sky
The symphony
Like nightingales on dancing tree
And a flow
Like a fountain on a filled dam

Are you the dream
To make me scream?
Are you the low
To make me high?
Are you the cold
To make me warm?
Are you the river
To fill my seas?
Endless are the yearnings of passion
Heartbreaking is the journey of reality
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 3, 2016.