I was born with nothing
To talk of clothes and rings and slings to cling
Look at me now
Looking at these crossroads
I was born like mixed flour
Does the sun boil me like heat
Which fans the buttocks of pots
As air stirs my content to grow thick like banku?
What do I do with these crossroads?
I am like a thirsty owl
I hoot as nature wrote
But other living things call it witchcraft
My eyes; calling for bullets of brave spirits
When all I need, is not greed but nights to feed
What am I on these crossroads?
I have to choose a side
From the loins which pieced my halves
To the groups bonded by blood
To factions at each other’s throats
Beliefs thought, fantasized, felt into believing
Geographical roars unmentioned
How many breakages does my heart need to have
On these crossroads?
Every moment is a choice
Every thought holds a voice
Every step makes its noise
Who am I?
Who at all am I?
What added soil to a soul in blended stones and claws?
Who mixed need and greed to feed on our breed?
Who am I?
Who are you?
Who are we?
Are we worth this struggle?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) Jan. 8, 2017