It is only in the house of politics
We find blinding smoke without fire
Its finances, like confusing qualitative thesis, lacks mathematics
Its words flying with no hands to tame to collate
Tongues of tongues are begged in hire
Hands with corrupt cash magnets
Get to be called sires
Brains with guttered tricks
Get to lead the need
While best bids sit catching flies
The few who venture turn spoilt food of ridicule
On the political market
Is it universal or Continental?
Is it our curse or our nature?
What is a tired climbing woman to do
When her children sell her out
Like cheap tomatoes on enemy markets?
Who can fingers of blame point to?
Great eyes which see and force mouths to mute?
Capable hands who fold in fear of hurts
Pushing weak and troubled hands to the fore?
Or ears who hear but act deaf?
This woman is in troubled waters
This poor Ghana!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 17th October, 2016