Old voices die amidst young voices
No matter how loud or shrilling
They are like plantain leaves
…no matter how beautiful their stretches
…they dry up and fall only to be replaced by a higher new
With every height of the plantain tree
…comes a new sect of accompanying leaves
Such is the moulding of society

Watching education become a park
Where culture battles foreign donors as they play sexual curriculum
…in this modern exploratory world
Hoping to score the winning goal
…while the referee and line referees
…have already signed a mental gain bait
…with the latter
Mixes excitement, laughter and fun
…in a sour-sweet Martini
For this spectator

It reminds me of a story an ancestor told in a dream
About a man living on a loamy land
…overtaken by an explorer looking for loam to better his land
The stranger dug the loam of the native while he slept
And forced him to sprinkle clay on his over fertile land with occasional fertilizer
So the healthy plants started losing weight
…wilting in fruit before their harvest
Still, the native saw nothing wrong
The stranger proposed to dig almost all the loam to his side
…and replace it with his sand and clay
To kill any fruit that will try growing
…on top of all the plants of the native
The native helplessly battles an agreement
…as his family asks that a mixture at least be made
Odomankomah watched the playing comedy in a sad tragedy
…and cried
Each and every tear drop
…flying him farther from the native

The ancestor should have finished his story
Before my spirit nudged my body in a wake

Whichever side that wins
…will just become an interesting blabber
…that will blow over in days fewer than three rice grains
But why do I see holes in the backyard
…getting pleasure keys in cherished unlocks
…openly in multitudes
…thanks to the absurd calls of shouting commentators?
I also see mortars pounding mortars
…and building cucumbers to reach the cassava of pleasure!
Why wake one faking sleep to keep wailers quiet
…through an emboldening chaos?
No matter the resistance of statics
I’m sure their hearts know
…their loss
As what they fear is already a built power play
…needing just an unveiling
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 1, 2019

By amoafowaa

Just a simple Ghanaian trying to find the best in our society. I may be fun, I may be interesting, I may be funny, I may even be foolish or intelligent, but it is all based on the mood in which you find yourself. I believe our minds make us who we are. Know that, pain, no matter its 'unbearability', is transient. Unburden or delight yourself for a while in my writings please. And all corrections, advice and opinions are welcome. Know that you are the king, queen or royal on this blog. :)


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