Our breaths have been marked
Marked for the roars of freshness
And the silence thereafter like that of toothless dogs
II
Our sad songs continue on world stages
But why do sympathies sit uninterested
Sipping their “serves you right” wines
Even as our hurtful passions sync with their instruments?
III
Could it be the need for quarter buttocks
To get the glue of octagonism
On the famed seat of governance
Through playing saints into stooging to please us into teasing in deceasing?
IV
Or our baby milk lacks the willpower to stand for the right
Erasing pain in forgetful insanities
Making troubles into strong footballs
Knocking us down and bouncing back in hitting
When we stand back on our feet in repetitive annoyance?
V
Our elders lied not
When they said forgetting pain begs for more
Yet we defy their stance like disobedient children
Pouring lives through unfair death colanders
Which wicked gods follow us in white man’s sneakers?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia ©October 8, 2017
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