THE WEED THEN KILLER

It slowly rose like smoke
Making eyes teary and red
Baking minds like loaves for their feed
Then became the weed of love
Making many kowtow with their all
Presenting their successes and their falls
It has now graduated to opium and cocaine combined
Building addicts out of thinkers

II
High on this drug-like serve
Many a reigns face ruins
High on this troubled flaw
Many a coffers cry emptiness
High on this monstrous flaw
Many a leg cry on knees
High on this bitter flaw
Many a mind sit in dozing

III
Catch your miracle
Shed your pride
Catch your travel
Be no patriot
Catch your breakthrough
Jump like a fool
Catch fertility
Crawl on your knees
Grab your loved one
Drain your blood
Get your fame
Just be the donkey
Catch your wealth
Be a cushion
Slay your enemy
Just pay a fine
If only the metaphor of ridiculousness
Were models on stages in the eyes of men
And fashion on minds of women
This mind will have no need
To paint this worship as the deviant congregant
In this hounding church
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © April 29, 2018

DRESS NOT THE EARTH IN YOUR MESS

Imagine your feet on no solid ground
Your ears, no tree in sound
Imagine your shelter in a hanging
And life without farming
Now follow the reasoning

II
Dress not the earth in your mess
Even if you are a pig thinking it a sty
For you live in the borrowed
And should leave it unsoiled
Oh be a thinker!

III
Rob not the earth in your greed
Even if, like an ingrate, you forget your feet’s support
The body’s bones are its pillars
The earth’s minerals are its support
Oh be a lover!

IV
Create no murderous monsters in your revenge
Even if your mortality promises an unshaken immortality
For the future belongs not to your ghosts
And the present, like a realm, is shared
So be decorous!

VI
Feed no waters with your rear phlegm
For if any pickaxe can dig throats
And pluck hearts in a hurry
It definitely wears the heels of thirst
Oh be a carer!

V
The earth is our hand that feeds
Our cup that quenches our thirst
Our medicine in our sicknesses
Our wools to clothe
Our place of rest
Our bind to leave behind
So dress not the earth in your mess
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © April 21, 2018

UNDER THESE SHEETS

Just as socks are made for feet
Hats are made for heads
This night, my apparel is beadly
My walk, a gracious call in passion’s voice
For our touches will be sparkly
Under these sheets

II
Clear your eyes
For every step will be a language
Every shake pointing to treasures hidden beneath pores
Clear your ears
Because every sound will be a code
Codes only your concentration can decode

III
From complains to blames
Requests to stories
Differences to references
Let’s all banish
To sure the cure of needs that seek to feed
Under these sheets

IV
Prepare to sight to track
Touch to spark
Massage to mark
Embrace to embark
On journeys beyond the moon
This night, under these sheets
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © April, 21, 2018

Photo Credit: Google pics

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 32 (18+)

NTWANU. Content takes precedence over branding but the branding which hosted my Ntwanu was scary. He had turned into a white man. Every part of his body clearly showed he was white. There was no trace of a black man on him, yet he spoke like my Ntwanu, held me like my Ntwanu, acted like my Ntwanu. There were so many questions running through my mind. Questions for which I knew might be difficult for him to answer. But as I calmed, I realized he wanted the mute me to ask those questions. “Not here” a voice in my head echoed.
“You look tired and even sick. And what is worse, your cartel will be looking for you even at the airport to take you out, so I will take you to a secret location and find a way to get you out of here.”
A part of me felt safe, the other part felt stupid. He mentioning I was in a cartel made me feel like a junkie. He gave me a pill to take to help with any pain, fed me water in his usually caring way and tucked me well in the seat to sleep. As the vehicle moved, so did I into a very deep and refreshing sleep.
I woke up on a queen size bed in a very cold room. The air-conditioning was a bit too much for me but some spots on my body burned to relegate the cold I felt to the background. I opened my eyes to see Ntwanu scratching the parts of my skin that had the rashes and smearing some ointment on them. There was an injection kit there so I realized he had injected me but I still did not utter a word. I just looked at him, maybe with a flinch here and there.
“Sorry I woke you. Just tending to your rashes. Looks serious. Wouldn’t want that flawless skin to be destroyed by these demons. Well, you will need to do your morning rituals and eat. You’ve not had anything to eat for almost three days now”.
The look on my face might have told him I did not believe him. But the clock on the wall told me he was telling the truth. I had slept for almost three days. I felt weak but definitely refreshed. He showed me to a fancy bathroom, gave me a toothbrush with toothpaste on its soft brittles and massaged my legs as I brushed. It did feel so good. I felt like I was in heaven but didn’t feel like talking with the angel. Bathing was hellish. Every part of my skin which was scratched burned like fire. But distance had brought shyness between Ntwanu and I so I kept my cool. In any way, that pain was the least I had felt. I even knew the taste of a bullet. Food was refreshing. From the orange juice to the toast, the cocoa drink to the omelette, everything tasted superb.
He switched on the television to see my picture fully on screen, wanted for murder. I was startled but he was not. Ntwanu chuckled and was about to change the channel when I told him to stop, my first word to him. He did leave it there, came back to sit with me, held me, planted a kiss on my forehead and told me he expected them to do that. According to him, they were just trying to fish me out because I knew too much. Alejandro, according to him, might be in a torturous mode just to break him to get you. He quickly added that Alejandro could not be broken because he did not know him and did not know where we were. We were somewhere eight hours from my station. Everything scared me. I felt horrible thinking I had brought harm to Alejandro. He was a bastard but definitely one of my best buddies who made me sane.
“How do I get out of this place then?” I asked almost in a whisper.
“Easy. Just trust me. I will go to town and get some few things done. I will be back before you know it. I will get you out of here in a week.”
The tone of that scarred me. Sounded more like a dangerous orgy. Watching television bored me to death, especially when my wanted advert paraded my pictures on several channels, so I switched off the television and went ahead to explore the place. It was a beautiful place. An ultra modern kitchen, a very large hall, several decorated rooms and added bathrooms, a classy gymnasium but there was no window and no door leading out. There was absolutely no one there but myself. I felt imprisoned. Luckily, Ntwanu came early and I felt safe again.
“There seems to be no windows nor doors leading out.” He laughed for the first time and even his teeth were different but beautifully arranged.
“Do you realize this is the first real question you’ve asked me? I was beginning to wonder what had happened to my fierce girl. We are underground. This is the safest place for you to recuperate your strength. And don’t worry about leaving here, I will change you so much even your cartel members won’t know you.”
“I was not into drugs, you know?” I said getting angry for nothing. “I am not saying you were into drugs honey. I was almost always around you. I travelled with you here as one of your girls but got out my own way. I even served you before in that house. I know all that you did and know you had nothing to do with the drugs part. But that organization is a drug cartel, the biggest in Mexico.”
I started shivering, then my mind told me whatever I feared was not in the room at that particular point in time so I should definitely relax. Ntwanu climbed into the bed besides me after supper. Funny enough, I didn’t feel like doing anything with him and he didn’t try anything either. He just looked at me as I pretended to watch television. It was a new feeling. There were bubbles of flutters in my heart, in my stomach, maybe even in my soul but my head told me how dangerous he was and warned me to be careful with him.
Three days were all I needed to be fresh and new again. My skin healed so fast, my strength was back. The gym showed how great I had gotten. I had gotten used to he changing like a chameleon. Ntwanu took off all my clothes after my bathroom rituals and started putting something soft on my body. It felt sticky but cool. After he was done with whatever he was doing, I felt like a new person. Standing in that mirror, I looked like a US citizen with my hair and all. He transformed me like a pro and I was in awe. He took a picture and applied for my passport through someone. Within two hours, my passport was ready, together with all the cards I needed as a US citizen, including my green card. Then he took me out through a lift. The lift brought us into a two bedroom apartment which looked like one built in the sixties. Although neatly decorated, it did not have a fragment of the luxury that its underground had. He showed me to the place and I marvelled. Nothing showed it had an underground but every part of that building was like an escalator. All it took to work was its very complex language or sign codes.
We rode freely and went to the airport. We had nine hours to board so decided to tour the place. We went as far as my girls’ dormitory and none was able to identify me. I asked for one of the girls I knew had travelled and mentioned one of her lesbian friends. I was emboldened after that. I laughed heartily after we left there to the pleasure of Ntwanu who asked that I called him “Manor Karl”. My name had changed into Vivian Vevoda. The flight to the US was okay and I felt relieved that I was not detected hiding within myself. Winter welcomed us to my horror and caged us in Ntwanu’s room for days. No clothes could make me feel better. Even the lighted chimney felt like an ice place. So on the second day, I tiptoed from the bathroom and blindfolded him from behind. He raised his hands in mock surrender and slowly turned to face me leaving my hands around his neck, bended small so that he looked right into my face. He was him and I was me. I saw a thousand beautiful flowers and felt the best air, yet I was gasping. I was completely mesmerized and he knew it. I waited for a while to have him kiss me but he just kept on looking at me and so I gently pressed my lips onto his as he closed his eyes drawing me in. Anticipation was turning into reality as passions simmered in our love’s pot.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © April 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

SHEs IN TROUSERS

Culture is like a cloth
Washed for its stains only to develop other taints
Time has travelled to see it merged like “nsaasaawa”
Making living confusing in acceptables
Making flaws contorting in reprimands
Time has washed the myths of trousers
Now shes freely live therein

II
Days which picked females like banku
And dipped them into okro sauces of men
To be swallowed and defecated at want
Days which built shadows in men for shes to live in
Soundlessly
At best putting on clothes of unsung heroines
Have almost parked their vehicles

III
Since minds in fem-lands were explored
And platinums down to bronze were discovered
Since strength from soul stood on stages of hardship
From the spirit of motherhood
Since light and darkness confessed their fears in talents of lasses
Many have broken free
From tails of stale digging pleasure for leisure
Bragging rights to treasure
Gifting shame without measure
So who coughed “gyantraness” for all shes in this golden coast?

IV
Lucy Quist to Patience Akyianu
Maidie Arkutu to Wear Ghana’s Agyemang
From Justice Theodora Wood to Naana Opoku Agyemang
Dr. Ama Ata Aidoo to Dr. Mrs. Nana
Ama Pokua Arthur
And all the numerous women in the power trousers of forcefulness
Live in this realm where Obaa Yaa Asantewaa led men to war in colonial times
So who spat the gross spittle of prostitution in adultererhood
On all the fine brains with clothes of decency of this land?

V
Tell me not that patriarchy paved this thought of insult
For real decency was a thread
Don’t tell tales of the weakness of a society
For many a lass live on their pockets
Don’t tell me that an existence of an anomaly
Is right to call for shame for real vectors
Common sense speaks in the sentence “Choose your words carefully”
But what even happened to the moral of the proverb
“Wash not thy dirty linen in public”?
Do you know the fecal matter in that of mockers?

VI
It is a sad day
When a woman definitely feels the pain of childbirth
From the nonsense that walked through the mouth
Of a nine moon traveller schooled to go wrong
A thought stamped non entity without a pounding hole
Bagging all including her travelled womb
In a gutter sack of naughts
Selling us out in a print on minds of some ignoramuses
Whose brains will forever keep our tag
In annoying reminders
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © April 13, 2018

THROUGH THIS STORM

Here I am
A hair on this blessed earth
With weak roots
Being played by winds like a piece of kite in the sky
And watched by eyes as to how far I can go

II
Here I am
In a fearful storm
Blinded by the dust of pain
Shamed by the clouds of need
Pelted with thunders of directions
To several places at once
With far eyes watching for how far I can go

III
Here I am
A naught in a sought
A caught for a bought
All by life’s strong hands in a tight hold
Suffocation calling for my termination
Jeers of antagonists strengthening my yearning for survival
But the spirit keeps blowing my womb
Making my body ask how far I can go

IV
Unexplainable are these tides
Torturous are the continuous waves
Whatever ropes tie me hither
I pray it holds for I need to see the end of this road
For all to see how far I can go
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © April 13, 2018

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 31 (18+)

No matter your state, a shift will show you the importance of being grateful for any state you’re in. The first and last Mexican prison I tasted was hellish, no other word to describe it. I realized I was immediately sent to prison with no trial. After the metal gates were shut, a very repugnant stench rose from the corner to meet my nostrils in a not so friendly welcome. Over eighteen people shared a space definitely meant for, at most, three people. Every space was taken except the small part around the toilet filled hole which acted king of the room. Before I could balance myself in the heat, I was pushed into that fecal matter left-shoulder in. What was worse, there was no water to at least clean myself and no one to talk to. My broken Spanish could not get through the angry faces which obviously hated having a black monster in their presence.
I was in that hellish prison for a week, spat upon, booted, and sometimes defecated on for lack of space. Standing and sleeping mostly and thinking it not worth it to fight in the heat. It was a blessing any time I could find myself a better spot around the toilet area to sit and sleep. I contracted a skin infection, a day after being in that hell hole just as all the people there. Eating was annoyingly horrid as the food was nothing to write home about. I was fortunate to get under a shower only twice in the entire week. Funny, with time, the stench of the faeces became familiar and not as repulsive as it first was; talking about familiarity breeding acceptance. The only thing I could not get used to was sexual abuse under the shower. Those rash infested ladies were always brutal in their “pounce on and finger”. I feared the hidden traces of sicknesses in their bloodstreams anytime it happened to me but tried to act within reasoning to avoid unnecessary attention. I felt a commotion in the place on the night I turned a week in the hole, opened my eyes to see a hand pulling my dehydrated and lean-struck self from behind out. The curses that followed me needed no translator to be understood.
Alejandro looked at me with a sad face and I could see he was struggling not to make me feel like the garbage in my intolerant perfume. All the prison wardens used their handkerchiefs to cover their nostrils but he stood there looking at me. After a while, he gave them some money and took me home. Not a word was said to me on the drive back. I stayed in my bathroom for over three hours, soaking and scrubbing, wiping and drying only to start all over again. When I finally went back to my room, Alejandro was standing and looking through the window with his back to me. It was the first time I realized there was a window in my room. Of course, one with metal nets that none could pass through. He ordered me to go and eat but I declined and jumped into bed. He went out and brought me food on a tray and practically forced me to eat.
“You can’t stay here any longer, I am afraid Miss Davids. Your life will be in danger if the bosses get to hear what happened.” He paused for a while and continued. “You shouldn’t have taken that girl to the hospital. She made it and cleared your name but no one cared enough to release you from that prison. We had to eliminate her because she would have posed a threat to us. They found out she was a prostitute. In fact, the man who hired her had to be taken out too. He chewed her, you know what I mean?”
I didn’t hear anything after he said that. Naki was chewed by a man like a dog? What was his deal? Chewing for pleasure? I was glad he was dead but feared the number of people out there with his traits. “Would prostitutes ever be safe?”, “Is God right to have given us vaginas?”, “How relative is pleasure to have men seek it in the most annoyingly shocking and diverse ways?”, “What is the thin line between pleasure and pain to have it fall into hurting almost all the time?”, “Will the surviving ever survive in this cruel business?” These thoughts run through my mind until Alejandro snapped his fingers to get my attention. “You will be sent to America before those up there get a wind of this. I am sure they’ll know soon. I am doing this because I care about you. Your flight leaves in four hours and I have your security intact until then. Catch some sleep. I will stay here with you.”
He climbed in beside me and I felt safe and slept. Something woke me up only to see a masked figure holding a gun and getting ready to shoot me. I held Alejandro and pulled him to the floor. He waking and pulling his gun was instant and instinctive. He shot three times and killed the two sent to “liquidate” me. He then helped me up, held my hands and pulled me straight out into another car which pulled outside the house. He asked that I left and told me he sure would come to the US to see me but needed to clear something before. He left me in the hands of a familiarly unfamiliar person. One whom I felt I knew but couldn’t remember where or how I knew him. One I had known had been around me for a long time but had no evidence. One who was to protect me until I reached my destination.
The man kept looking at me from the mirror inside the car and I felt uncomfortable. He must have sensed my discomfort even after riding for over an hour and changing cars twice. “Baby girl you don’t need to look so scared. You know I’ll never hurt you? I will always protect you.” I definitely knew that voice and I wasn’t crazy. It was real, I wasn’t dreaming, God! I thought of how possible it was to have experienced that. I looked at him and started weeping uncontrollably. He stopped the car, hopped in beside me and took me into his arms. “You know what your tears do to me. Baby please stop it”. It was as if those two sentences asked me to intensify my weeping. And so I wept in his arms, arms I perfectly fitted into, arms of…

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © April 10, 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

WHEN THE OKRO ACTS CUCUMBER

A pen never acts manly on an oily sheet
And true, both okro and cucumber may share a knife
But should never see themselves as equals
For the slime in the former makes it a cook and eat
And the plainness of the latter makes it an instant chop
Well, an “anyhow you want it” chop
If you have an okro, know your hole
Hide not in waist-coverers to brag like a cucumber

II
Four walls never aid in shutting mouths of holes
A whisper today travels into the future
And spreads instantly like the “foosh” of a stomach
Whose eggs and milk and beans and others
Team up for a battle of the rots
And sneaks out in public places

III
Know your okro and seal your bragging tool
A hunter’s game in slaughter is normal
A game slaughtering a hunter is juicy news of fun and laughter
Be not the latter if your gun can only fire like a toothpick
Know your okro and play its game
Act no cucumber to land a timber hole
He who has ears…
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © April 5, 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

AND SHALL SHEs GROW WITH SCARS?

As wisdom drowns amidst time’s wheels

And integrity gets tied to death’s heels

Many are the ills that like eels walk in heels

On talking tiles mocking our helplessness

Weird huh?

II

Gone they seem, those days when caterpillars were peacefully left to turn butterflies

And tadpoles were left grow into frogs

Now very young fruits are plucked and forced to ripe

By heat instead of the blend of sunlight, air and rains

Bringing negative oddity to the fore

Costing the future honourable seats

Where have our consciences travelled to?

III

We now live like angry winds

Destroying our future in seconds celebrations of the now

We now live like army worms

Eating away the grains to save hunger in barns

Shall we eat ourselves in survival of the fittest?

We are self carnivores

Chewing ourselves from feet up

If only our future would show itself in an hour movie

To let us know what will be when our backs are turned

We might learn to pay more heed

That shes may ripe with no scars

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © April 4, 2018

DEAR GOSSIP OF MY LIFE

I write this letter in mock reverence of your time
You whose mountains of problems hang thorns and stumps
On the trees of your dreams
Making the closure of your eyes nightmarish
And the mattress of your bed hellish
Yet find time to look keenly at my strides
With eagle eyes when your hawk eyes fail
In reportage like an international reporter with no known portfolio
If only you knew freelancing gossips receive no pay checks!!!

II
I hold my earthenware just as you do
If the phantom legs you find dining in mine irks you so
Try looking for royal hands to dine in yours
Odomankomah is not a partial being
That is why you have yours and I have mine
Be no ostrich in a giraffe wannabe
For I am no course with a rewarding certificate

Make me not your sky

For my brightness might you blind

And my fertile rains might you drown

III
If the junction of my waist
Is the catalyst for my climb
By all means do plant a station near yours
To get busy to at least see you in your eyes instead of my reflection by the unstable sun
For my behind’s attraction can make you a hopeless addict
My work’s impact may make you a bitter tool
Which would end up working up fools to you destroy
You are too expensive to employ yourself as my reader

III
None will serve you songs of thanksgiving
For serving me on palatable plates to mouths through ears
You know even kola nuts of reference
Put in guns of “who told you?”
And directed at you may even cause you to dodge
Like an unskilled goalkeeper being threatened by a knife-wielding ball
Do I deserve such an honour of stardom on the stage of your priceless time?

IV
I am no seed to be planted into your harvest
No savings to yield for you huge dividends
No business to get you huge profits
No skill to get you fame
No food to feed your hunger
No water to quench your thirst
No doll for your fulfilling entertainment
And certainly no visa to get you a green card
Into hearts of others
I am simply a you in trying lifedom
So please take a cue
For this little time I used to look back at you
May definitely be all that I can spare
After feeling the unharming fires of your rumours
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © April 3, 2018

FOR AUTISM AWARENESS

Blessed are the pure in spirit

They are like the cleanest water in a tormenting desert

They surely will be there for all

Discriminate against none

And hate not on any

It is a day to wire bells of empathy for a lifetime

II

He who said broken seeds feed not

Has never known hunger

He who said different seeds need no space

Is like a heavy wall caging development in archaism

For difference is the creator’s art of specialization

It is a day to tattoo reasoning on working minds

III

Let’s let our hearts see in feeling

Let’s let our minds mind in mending

Let’s let our hands handle in helping

For a different seed today may be the biggest tree tomorrow

And in autism lies special talents begging to be harnessed

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © April 2, 2018

THE TURNING CROSS

Days have travelled to a weary feet

And now pulls its shocking seat

Of time with all its surprises

Of change so strange in range

II

The cross’ significance sit in revered history

Of the old and few committed

But serve as archaic artifact for many

Whose pleasures outweigh biblical interest

III

Drunkenness in coital worship

Replace prayers in thankful worship

Shaking the grounds of celebrations in old accoutrements

Of soul harvesting as the young dance to tunes of their hearts

IV

The cross is now turning in loss

The boss of meditation now gross

On relegation

Oh how humid the winds of change!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia @ April 1, 2018