Your Jesus whose name is a whip you pull out
Whenever your anger turns into a shout
On building a house into a home
Was he not lonesome?
That name you spit out
Whenever you seek from me a man in the moral stout
Did he ever let his pestle pound fufu in any abaayowa’s sweet mortar?
Were there whispers of he courting some man of affluence’s daughter?
That name you chant out
Whenever you see children, trying to make it my emotion’s clout
Can you please name his first born?
Maybe then, I will heed to your bothersome horn
Please, let me be
And let your Jesus be
You always chanting his name makes him the ghost we all see
Parading in tricking, hurting and killing
Oh I forgot
You call it saving…
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © April 9, 2019