MY TOKLO

You say I’m selling
But you are yelling
Calling for customers sleeping and traveling
In a badness of madness in searching my shaming
When I’ve never signed any contract of marketing
…with you
What is your own if I am selling my toklo?

II
While you light the fires of gossips
And pour your sweats for earth’s sips
I go on insomniac trips
And take all of tiredness’ whips
…day, night, dawn
Though my bedroom is not your market
You still bark like a desperate atufoɔ boɔ marketer
To sell me in disgust to the world
What is your own if I am selling my toklo?

III
I thank my stars if I’ve a hot spot
…ready to be bought
…by a lot
To raise me from poverty to wealth
Since I’m your work
Keep being my guard
I’ll occasionally throw you some words
When I pause selling my toklo to rest

IV
I’ve nothing to fear even if I’m selling my toklo
Is it society’s path to their potable river?
Is it the society’s ceremonial mouth?
Is it your not-to-be-tainted fetish shrine?
Or you consider it your golden farm?
It is my toklo
…on my body’s kro

V
I pity the pious who stop creating paths
…from their toklo to ahenman mu
To blabber about those who use theirs
…for earthly purposes
How sad will it be
…when your God calls and your pious path
…is a desert of thorns?
Continue selling my toklo on your time’s market

VI
We all thread on roads of our choices
After following our inner voices
So you continue to make up noises
Expecting gracious invoices
…for my pay
Ha! My toklo will at least pay me
Yours?

VII
Time is a cruel boss to mankind
There is no word like kindness
…in its wicked dictionary
So continue selling my toklo in your freshness
But don’t bemoan a loss
If you wake to the arrest of wrinkles
Having used all your time to help sell my toklo
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 3, 2019