Categories
POETRY

HER FIERY FURY

“I called for a burn
…but you left me a yearn
I called for a whip
…but you gave me with a bib
I called for a scar
…but you left me a “duh”!
What is this?
What at all is this?

Ib
When my lust comes to feed
I need a bone that can take a seat
…and live through many a sweaty bead
…tasting no defeat
So what is this?
What at all is this?

II
When my defenses are down
And my adwaman comes to town
I need a sack which can’t drown
…in my enchanting crown
So what is this?
What at all is this?

III
I am a firm land
…which needs a strong stand
I am a hole
…which needs a fierce dig to be whole
I am fire needing a quenching
…not ashes in benching
So what is this?
What at all is this?

IV
Your eyes beg for pity
When my need calls for duty
Your countenance begs for mercy
When I’m wearing my hunger jersey
What at all is this?
Just what is this?

V
Have you been deserted by Agya Appiah?
Have you been conned by Alomo?
Have you been burned by Power Power?
Have you been jilted by Wakey Wakey?
Massa look for medicine
…if sickness is wrecking your fitness!
Don’t parade selling veins you don’t own
Conning a queen to descend downstairs
…only to see a broken worm instead of a python!”
I see a tree reduced to logs
…in a shameful burn
Sosket!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia Β© June 9, 2020

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. :)

6 replies on “HER FIERY FURY”

Perfecto! Fiery exquisite!
Personally I don’t like ligiligi comatose twigs.
He needs @Bentua therapeutics.
Sosket! What is this!
πŸ˜πŸ˜„πŸ˜ƒπŸ˜€πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚AJIEEE.

Liked by 1 person

This poem is a creative yearning cooked in the cave of universal reality. Though a mourning moaning morning song, it confronts the man about a tale of his tail.

The poet is a charmer of words.

Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s