WHEN THE LAW CHASES

The boldness of darkness in deceptive acquisition
Is a mystic and hypocritical existence
Which abhors the steps of light
Even in far distances
It’s a little wonder legs turn three
Moving without support for the third
Chests grow mounds
Hoping with no straps for decorum
When the law chases

II
Wigs are rigs in these digs
For they easily come off
Leaving mess on exhibition
And baldness to the knocks of cold
And the burning heat of the sun
It’s a little wonder stooging knees
Turn laughing teeth
When traps of the law fetches stool games
Ah! Norms Are Sticks
When the law chases!

III
You know there’d be fans
There’d be tongues calling for bans
They’d be minds mum with fear
And hearts delighted to share
Still there’d be fence sitters
Few sympathisers
Oh let’s see the bright side
No fecal matter sits in caught bellies
When the law chases

IV
Shame for honour
Rags for respect
Hate for love
Kin for stranger
Friends turn enemies
Crushes start crashing
When the law chases

V
Ghosts of the past can turn clothes into ropes
Shadows into canes
An extended hand into a bat
A tree into a cudgel
Little sounds into guns
Reaching for guilty hearts
When the law chases
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 23/05/2018

HIDDEN SCARS (Crazy Stanzas)

As existence of breezes
Is seen in the dance of a tree
I wish you dance in my hair or body
For all to see
You hidden monsters in my arteries!
You surely make me a walking corpse
In a walking stalk
Not that you care

II
Haven’t I looked for plasters to you seal?
If only sentimentalism could be counted in drops in drunken bottles!
If only pain can be counted in drops of tears!
If only hurts can walk rightly through complaints and bitterness!
If only clouds on my sky could be seen
In the realm of my melancholy!
If only these storms in my heart
Could tear its mask of internalism!
If only the carvings of life’s painful times
Could decorate this skin for a visible exhibition!
If only faking smiles could turn over
The tides of slippery shame in these veins!
If only abusing work would poison these internal typhoons!!!
I might look the part of life’s rightful garbage

III
But here I stand
I fly looking like a bee
An ant fighting elephants in this deceitful grass called earth
Here I am
Life’s taunt in my haunted self
A soul cursing outbody sealed with talents
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © May 18, 2018

THROUGH THIS WINDOW

Pain is looking at a difference, in molestation, afar
Devastation is seeing your reflection in the bins of others
Sadness is seeing minds trapped by slavery
And tracing their roots to yours
Bitterness is knowing it all with a helplessness
That imprisons your confidence
Brewing unshed tears in the sky of your heart

II
When chains arrested muscles of mine
And dragged them like subdued monsters
Through their own virgin fields
On paths made by their own,
Shadows of my mother’s mother had no place in matter
Yet here I stand
Eyes in these tiny windows in this space
Viewing the harvest of brutality
Planted centuries back

III
Who would have thought trapped games could break free
Plant roots to grow stems thicker than their hunters
To a point of jealousy,
Fear of overthrow
To carve acts of rebellion
And plans of erasing bonds carved by decomposed souls?

IV
It breaks this heart to see the colour of her clothes
Smeared in violence
In hopelessness
In crime
In death
In submission to naughts
With the few on shelves mostly bleached to blend
Or made door mats to silence
While their lost roots lie in riches untapped
Wallowing through seas of poverty
Leaving bright thoughts in melancholy
Watching through windows of mock indifference
Oh! The irony of odds!!!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © May 16, 2018

THE HUMAN COOKS (Celebrating Mothers)

The starting point of every race
Births successes
The rising point of the sun
Births light
Just as palm trees have no useless parts
Mothers, even in graves, shelter our souls
In spiritual protection
Who is without a mother’s is
Or, in sad terms, a mother’s was?

II
Like hens, they struggle to hatch
Like eagles, they are vigilant in protection
Like horses, they are ever ready to serve
Like donkeys, they seek to carry burdens of their seeds
Even if their backs break
Even chameleons can’t change their colours
As mothers do to protect their young
So who can deflate the air in a mother’s happy baloon?

III
Beings who humanity owe by default!
Humans without whom humans are naught!
Bridges of life and death!
The gentle balm on sores of childhood!
The unfailing mattresses of falls of teen-aging!
The great masseuse on pains of adulthood!
The comforting chests in fears of death!
Who can light his roof
And stand aloof without a struggle?

IV
Goddesses of this globe!
Beautiful hearts in brave but slender enclaves!!
Beings who share everything, including heartbeats!!!
The best pots on fires of life!!!
We hail your existence!!!
Celebrate your creation!!!
Pamper your sore feet which never tire in running for our sake!!!
If love were rivers
We would gift you seas in your worship
May Odomankomah keep you
Even as you wish for the best for yours
On your day of felicitations and thanksgiving
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © May 13, 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

ELECTRIFYING TOUCHES

If structures could turn see-throughs
In these cold powered days
Many would find what stands true
In this raining May

II
Would be fun to watch
As lightening hugs get sticky
With eyes magnetizing eyes
Lips calling in other lips
Veins in arms sending hands on exploratory hunt
For pleasures abominable
In leisures of weathers so culpable

III
Lands get lost thinking love in digging
Only to wake to catches in feelings of rigging
Catches with spoons and plates
On future tables unplanned
How does it do it?
The electrifying touches which clean consciousness?
Oh cold! You’re so bold!
How does your old trick always get sold
Leaving lasses in prisons of responsibilities?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 11/05/2018

DAY WAKES

Now the day is awake
The sky is serving light
All that hands will take
Will base on a heart so bright

II
I hope that for life’s sake
We work with all our might
Like bread in an oven bake
Our ends will shine so bright

III
We have to burdens shake
And face our fearsome fright
And dodge all that is fake
To climb all best’s height
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © May 6, 2018

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

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

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

BE LET TO GROW (AGAINST CHILD MARRIAGES)

There are many fruits which fail to mature
On their mother trees
Mama, I don’t want to be one of such fruit
I need to be sheltered when storms break
Need to be covered when the rains come in
Need to be pampered when good air visits
And to feel the matured company
When the sun sets in
Oh papa, I want to be ripe before the pluck

II
For poverty sake
Mama, give me not out like a token for a feed
For I can mature and be the pot whose water never dries out
For debts sake papa give me not out as your once peace of mind
For I can be that wealth
The future prepares for you
For societal tongues sake
Uncle give me not out as a clearance of gossip
For I can be the star of this home
When my future is left for my studies

III
I am in no rush for a crash
I am the flower who wishes to bloom into beauty
My future is in my hands and not in the hands of any boy or man
Until a job finds me in a good salary
Marriage is the vehicle I wish not to enter
So help me mama
Help me papa
Help me uncle
Help me auntie
For I am a child
And marriage is a cloth meant for adults
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © March 27, 2018

JERKS OF HEARTBREAK

There are clawed fingers
Which scratches the core of the heart of loving souls
Plucking out happiness and planting sadness
Leaving the future bleak and eyes red

II
They come in their horrid varieties
Slow or aggressive
And take over the senses in helpless lenses
Take over muscles in fearful pulls
Take over shame with spittle so lame
Forcing teeth to bite their bosom friend; tongue
Contorting bodies until their arrests end
To the shame of the innocent model

III
Not contagious they say
But burns out friendships like fires in dry hay
Able to be handled
But squeezes out young brains like water in a towel
Not a spirit
But harms hearts like the harmattan’s touch on fertile trees
Those blessed not to have witnessed might comfortably chuckle but
Dear epilepsy, you are one of death’s most vile agent
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © March 26, 2018

EBONY GOES HOME

Daring was her nature

Beautiful was her stature

Much talent was hosted in her bubbly frame

The head of youth popping out of her character at every juncture

Defying norms and soothing ears

Representing her in the past tense makes me tense

Yet a greater hand has beckoned

Who is this mouth to ask why?

II

Her clock stopped before her birthday station

And her loss halted a whole nation

Half of whose mouths whipped in critical damnation

A beautiful bloom broken into our doom

Ebony, the blackest star which centered the musical red, gold and green

III

Home is where all our ends rest

As you go, come back rejuvenated

To change many more status quos

To touch more lives

To show the world how to live in fitting individual skins

To smile brightest and laugh loudest

In the black apparel nature gave which many blessed souls want changed

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © March 24, 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

THIS FACE WE BOOK

This Face we book

Has many pages to flip

Beautiful pictures to look

Opened relationships to zip

Different recipes to cook

Vulnerable seams of souls to rip

Many addictions to hook

Many tears to in sympathy drip

II

In its town, many a secret sit naked

Many a bomb lie unclothed

Many a lonely heart roam veiled

Seen by bright eyes with no sight

Yet, many a stars are born on these streets

Many a thief, duly caught

Many a heart cruelly broken

Many a voice, rudely shut

Should mention be made of the much shame

Sprinkled on self portraited flowers and beaks?

III

This Face we book

The Twit we ter

This Insta we gram

This Link we in

And their brothers and sisters we display

Are theoretic worlds of us

Living in our arts

Making us gods in our own rights

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © March 24, 2018

THE STOREY OF YOU (FOR WORLD POETRY DAY)

I came to you straight from life’s hellish oven

With a soul brutalised and so very grief shaken

I came to you like a tired lamb

With my neck in offering

On feet so rebellious because of needs and pain’s whips

You held me, soothed me, and magically mended my callouses

Like a gentle ice on a burning wound

II

I sat in you with a shattered heart

A clubbing head with a vengeful hat

But days drained it all in your powerful words

Every ink cleansing my bleeding soul

Every hugging word exorcising my anger

Every line planting sanity in the dessert of my brain

Every stanza planting humanity in the pores of my skin

III

I lived in you like a fool turned tool

Yet you used me not as your stupid bull

But as a blessed head linked to a flowing hand

Mending my name from the dents of shame

Strengthening my muscles for battling rings of life

Shaving furry out of my hurry

Oh you mystical angel in an art!

IV

Purity in you is my loving find

Love of you is carved in my grateful mind

You are the piece of peace life has given

On my famished chaotic plate

That cool rain in my days of drought

So I will forever worship your existence:

P-O-E-T-R-Y, goddess of my artistic musedom!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © March 21, 2018

​DAWN MUSINGS

If passion’s flicker did take liquor
And whispered these many trials

That hang on every life’s tree

To flower into fruition

To be plucked or pecked, fall or rot

Only to reach a cut, break or an uproot

Many swim fighters might have failed in competition

Intentionally


II

Yet a real excitement

Like curiosity, hanging it’s neck

In the window of my unformed heart

Might have still pushed me here

Into the belly of this earth

Where many paths lead to the same dark spot

But transient hearts battle in disharmony

Using their mortality as spears, guns, machetes and cancerous words

Only to stand possessed with fear

When their last bells call

What is man in this crooked spot of living?


III

Man is a mind of secrecy

Ailing or jubilating for the past

Scheming in the present

Without knowing the future

Man is like a programmed robot

Whose lifespan is known to its creator

But hidden from him

Yet he plans every minute as if he is in charge of him

Man is like a blind god’s house

To be used and discarded in a time and place

Yet man lives like God 

With thoughts of who to lead and impress

Even when living plays itself in a sleep world

Oh! Fading dusts battling hardened rocks!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 20, 2018

WHEN NEED CHASES

I live

With the body of a lioness

But walk

At the pace of a snail

The earth; a cruel boiling

The air; a slapping heat

On this road, are monstrous feet

And on the sky’s face, is an annoying grin

Even the dark seems dangerous

As legs with no intent join targeting ones in my hunt

When did you say is your time for me?


II

I hope your time is not in oblivion

Where moths lay claim on what needs recycling

I hope your time is not in full age

Where old age sprinkles wrinkles on my fallen skin

As joints pull down its locomotive powers with pain

I hope your fires under this very pot

Die not at the total evaporation of its working waters

Your intent have written endorsements

But you know how fast hearts you created move 

When need chases

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 18, 2018

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa)  Chapter 28 (18+)

“If you cut the head of a snake, all that is left is a rope.” I know that was the proverb playing on the minds of Tayo and his cronies. What he did not know was the fact that this snake’s venom was full in every part of its body. I arranged pillows to look like a human in a dimly lit room, hid in the closet in wait with a locally acquired gun given by Manki. Poncho was under the bed while Nacho hid in the bathroom. They had placed ten of their men around the hotel and ten on the way to my room.  The wait was boring and we even started to doubt the authenticity of the whistle blower. At fourteen minutes to two at dawn, we heard light footsteps with slight creaking of opening doors.

Three people entered my hotel room, then we heard gunshots in my hall. The team there were in a shoot out waking many in the hotel. Poncho fired from beneath, Nacho from the bathroom and I, from the closet. We each got them but Nacho’s missed and shot his shoulders. The assassin started shooting anyhow so I had to dock. Nacho, courageously jumped from beneath the bed, hit the wrist of his hand which was holding the gun and engaged in a man to man fight with him. The light was switched on only to see the assassin dressed in an all black tights, including a woollen facial mask. Poncho and Nacho handcuffed and unmasked him and saw a very unfamiliar face. They called out to those placed in the hall and realized we had lost one of our men but all the men in black tights were dead. They were eight in number. We quickly moved through our windows to another hotel which was booked the previous evening.

Manki came to visit early the next morning. He was shocked that we were alive making me think he was part of the conspiracy. We had kept the one alive in my new hotel room, gagged with Poncho as his torturer. He would still not open his mouth but we were not done with him. Tayo also interestingly called me. I received the call with all courtesy demanded of a business friend and gave no clue as to what we had gone through the night before. His voice was unmistakably shaking throughout the conversation but I feigned ignorance to perfection. After booking all the flights,  we went back to my room to help torture the intruder. I ordered a finger to be chopped off at every failure to answer my question. After losing two fingers, he spoke out, telling us about the man who contracted them. In fact, he was the boss who was contracted and was at his wits end because all his people had been killed. He pleaded to be killed too but I would have none of it. The man who paid for the contract happened to be Tayo’s friend. I called Manki after clearing my doubts and gave him my instructions about the assassin who said he was called Mpa. I proposed a recruit and followed through with it even though all my crew were against it. There was something about him I found loyal although he croaked under intense pressure. We fixed him up real well, his fingers and all, and let him go after he promised to follow us to Mexico. I had Tayo brought in for few slaps and wounds which promised to be deep scars and warned him to play with his equals next time. He left with his tail in between his thighs.

We took off five days after our clash with the assassins. Mpa and almost all the girls showed up but three, leaving us with four hundred and ten girls. I left the three for Manki to deal with but asked that he acted gently as some may have had genuine reasons for bailing out. As it turned out, one found out she was pregnant, another could not leave her ailing grandmother and the other died the night before in a street shoot out. It was a safe flight and the girls were comfortable in the dormitories Alejandro prepared for them. Our orientation was beautiful as the girls willingly dressed up for the theory and their first test jobs.

I was a bit beside myself with anxiety after I saw Consuelo. Thoughts of her difference, change of eye colour, body size and speech sounds made me feel like she was a different person but people around me felt she was one and the same person. Fearing they might think few of my screws were loose up there, I shut up and kept my many questions to myself. 

Alejandro visited a week after our orientation. The look in his eyes had changed. He looked at me with a softer touch. Funny, I did not mind at all. “Miss Davids, my surprise is your success. A book’s internal writing colour can be different from its exterior. Si.” After saying that, things became odd between us with neither of us speaking for a minute or two. 

“Miss, I came to check something around this place and decided to check on you. Be careful with everything and everyone and be sure to be alert at all times. Meanwhile, I will need  thirty girls to go and model shoes in Milan next week.” His fluency in the English Language always baffled me.

He fidgeted while talking, making me sense there was something fishy about the modelling bit. It would have been alright if he had said “to escort some high profiled people, but to model when they had not been trained to model bothered me. He might have realized so added “I will bring a trainer to help them get ready for the run way.” I knew something smart was being played on me but didn’t know what. Yet I took consolation in his words to be alert at all times. 

The week saw me seeing to it that selected girls were trained for modelling of shoes. The “ko ko ko” and “ka ka ka” were better than the sneakers which were almost like lullabies. The shoes that were presented were brand new and very catchy but the models who were chosen had long, beautiful and sexy legs, bodies and faces, talk less of smiles accentuated with perfect set of snow-like teeth. So in wearing the shoes, though catchy, the legs, bodies, in fact, their whole physiques caught more attention. They were given special clothes to wear with the excuse that they are models and should look as such, even their bags were sponsored, including hair accessories. I got the surprise of my life when my ticket was added. I was to be their supervisor. A part of me was glad of the Italy visit, a part was just restless, feeling there was something awfully wrong associated. 

We went through checks with no problems at the airport. The flight, including food on the plane was beautiful and cool. A beautiful blue black Limousine picked us up at the airport and sent us to our hotels. Although the girls were excited, they were nearly as tired as I was. I mean proper tiredness as they took on five to six men each night and six to seven during the day. On my part, I supervised all the CCTV cameras in their various dormitories to be sure I was privy to all that was happening to them, of course, without their knowledge. I also took charge in pairing men with them. I was grateful the payment plan of our customers had nothing to do with me but everything to do with Alejandro. Still, from petty thefts to sex based injuries, chaotic misunderstandings caused by language barriers to attitudinally sour men, there was never a dull day until the travel. I won’t even mention meetings upon meetings. Will you believe me when I say I completely forgot about sex? It was that intense so I slept like a log at our Hilton Hotel in Milan.

I woke to a scare, a very frightful scare. One of the girls was seizing and according to the other girls, had been seizing for over an hour. I made to call the reception for an ambulance but one of the girls restrained me. She took me to the bathroom and showed me something. A white powdery substance which she believed was the cause of Nthambi’s seizure. She believed they were in the shoes and the girl found them out and abused them. I asked her to get all the shoes of the girls for me without their knowledge. We searched through, even to a point of destroying some but nothing was found. I thought deeply about the whole trouble and decided on what to do next. Cunning were my thoughts, fierce were my emotions.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 16, 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

ON THIS DAY OF LOVE


Varied colours of bees, birds and flowers

Will dance under Cupid’s showers

With soaps of gifts in parcels of hearts

Many in heels on tiles of public stages

In fantasies of crumbling perfect sheets

In the arms of secrecy

Others in sneakers of dignity 

On woolen carpeted back staged floors

Hoping their hearts’ arrows 

Will meticulously pierce and stick into hearts in foreverness

Yet some will wait in anticipation for naught

From hearts of insensitive dust cans

Who know how to eat in bowls of love

 Not how to prepare its meals nor do its dishes

What of those to be robbed in cages of manipulations

By Cupid’s unfortunate curses?

Oh there are those whose tarred tongues of lies

Will spark vehicles of deceit into chaotic accidents

Seeing to death of their couplings

Yet still some will hide in blankets of loneliness

Hoping with tears of need

For a future of fantasy

Where Cupid’s touch will bless

It is a farm of perfected imperfections

Cultivated from a garden of loving hate

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 14, 2018

Photo Credit: Google pics

PRETEND ON

Flow with the snow and alienate your rain

Giggle in shivers of winter and act coy with thy harmattan

Mate summer and pretend its sun is all you’ve seen

You melaninos pretending to be dark albinos

In strange strange spheres
II

You are they who hold erasers of the past

Cleaning  footsteps as they go

You are they who join moves of foreign rhythms

Pretending Adowa, Agbadza, Kpanlogo and the lively others

Are sickly tunes from lands of alien apes

Soldier on, you eagles acting in butterfly tights

Model on, you frozen blocks wearing clothes of snows

Run on, you who abhor pictures of your past

Just know frogs stretch in their death

Showing their real heights

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 11, 2018

​EBONY DRAINS BUT STILL REIGNS

This morning tastes sour
Making the sun frown at its bitter luck

In throats are melodies which water sores of heartbreaks

A blooming voice has muted 

Pressed by deaths wicked fingers

How I wish death’s father lived in the physical

For her soul to date in his hate
II

The sensuous figure that worked so well

Driving many into an obsessive hell, fell

At the dawn of her rise

And tears are seas in loving hearts

Regrets are pools in hateful hearts

All the poison whose venom never got its fill

The sponsor whose money gave dilemma for a moral so misconstrued

Look Mother Nature! What death, your son, has done!

One who reigns has been sucked in his drains
III

I know the unheard melodies ringing through strange lands

Begging for a way back to life’s shores

I know the “hotness” that finds itself in a mythical realm

I know the grievances of an unfilled pot

Broken after a graceful bake

But you were a melody in your short visit

A sweet sweet melody with a perfect pen of words to boost

Writing your name in the history of the greatest our time will know

Sleep well little one

If the world gives other chances yonder

By all means come and complete your mission

Until then, damarifa due!

Due due ne amanehunu!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 9, 2018 For Ebony Reigns.

Photo Credit: Google Pics

POSITIVE VIBES

A flower of smiles

In a hand so warm

A massaging sun waving from miles

In a sky of no harm

Greets your morning from the land of my mind

II

The land of my mind

In which I farm happiness in weeds of strife

Throwing stumps and thorns into dungeons of past’s behind

Carving a great team to play the team of life

So create a smile without a sigh


IV

A smile with no sigh

Even if clouds blanket the waving sun

Knowing transiency is its bothersome hi

And impotency carves its tempt like fun

In a garden of your sweet scented presence

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 8, 2018

​THAT CHAOTIC FUTURE

I can see a time standing far up on a future top
With a sea-like feet sweeping this shop

Acting like a white elephant cop

Watching as beings intensely flop 

And animals, their tamed rights hop


II

There, I saw a wolf publicly loving a being

All fangs and claws in daylight are seen

All giggles of rights hailed fairly by the green

As ancestors time look in nauseating mean


III

Even dogs walked on twos

Giggling with beings in “me and yous”

And those who stumbled into public loos

Ended up seeing all furs on and in skin


IV 

What of horses who sat to date

Their past bosses in a lucky fate?

In their bitter and litter state

Their curses loudly fly in debates


V

I watch as fishes fight for their rights

To swim in air and get their share

Of the pleasures which humans share

To the creatures whose meat now act skins

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 7, 2018

TRAITS OF A LEADER

A knot needs fingers to be

Just as groups need a head for sanity

As the earth looks upon the sky

And the sky cries and shines upon the earth in fertility

So must the relations between a leader and the led

The leader built by positive sides of great animals


II

A leader must be a lion in serving

Fierce for roles none wants to take on

With paws for tackling its challenges

Be it shame or difficulties

A leader must be a peacock

Proud of piecing diverse heads into one

And stitching different hearts into rhythmic heartbeats

A leader must be a hen

Domesticated 

Always home or around the home of the office

Bringing all broken wings, tired legs, hurt chicks

Under its wings

Always watching out for the hawk of division

And working to have a pecking fight even if its strength is in the low

A leader must be a cat

Always ready to listen

Mostly holding its tongue

Mostly blinking away gossips

Which wild dogs peddle

Only using the guarding trait of dogs for the good of all

A leader must be an ant

Wise in troubled waters

Looking for leaves when his army is faced with a drowning

Always honourable even in a chastisement

A leader must be a goat

Stubborn with risks

Accepting defeats with grace

And cheering wins with motivation

A leader must be a sheep

Obedient and approachable

To all no matter the emotions of approachers

A leader must be a dove

Looked upon like a star by her led

Pure in their hardworking sights

Setting examples where equations seem difficult

A leader must be as presentable as an antelope

Even in a forest of thorns

Observant like a brown snake under a brown lawn

A leader must be a horse

Never tired to trot

Even when sharp rocks stare meanly with knives to battle

A leader must a nightingale

Whose voice mellows the fury of even a dragon spewing hell fire

A leader must be a vulture

Always picking up the dead pieces no matter how they stink

A leader must be an eagle

Whose wings never tire from flight

And strength is enough to always light teams

With eyes like that of a potent seer

Seeing the future before it happens

A leader must be the biggest tree in the desert

Always ready to house all in branches and under its skirt

A leader must be fierce like a David

Even when a Goliath chases

A leader is the donkey whose back never breaks

And the horse whose chariot is his to pull

Even through thunders and storms

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 30, 2017

​CHILD OF MINE


Baby mine

Do not, for the attention of these storms pay a dime

Life in suns and rains rhyme

So let’s let these storms, their time chime

You beautiful sun of mine


II

You were picked from the world of passion

With wishes of building for you a happy nation

Breaking backs to give you a perfect station

But life’s travel shows no future action

Hence my sorry reaction


III

I wish your ails had a walking bell

I would have sheltered you like a shell

And taken its guns regardless of its pain’s spell

Even if it meant arrest of my soul in death’s cell

But its talkless sneakers teamed with my unaware gel

So you innocent soul in running fell


IV

Even as these storms roar

As our needs soar

In many an eye’s tour

And many a mansion holds no door

For our weary feet to talk less of a floor

Our sethood changes not even if Satans in conventions abhor

So fight even in this poor


V

I will always you cheer

Even if tears blind in my fear

I will always your guns share

Even if ammunitions of injections and medications cost in queer

I will always stay here

Where your fists blow death’s steer

Hoping and praying for a win, my dear

But if this breaks your gear

Know you will forever be engraved here

In this heart and always be near

For this journey is of us

You and I 

And our God whose existence shakes my mythical confusions

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 2, 2017

​AT THE BRINK


I see the hollow hole

At all sides

How even this air turned mole

And the earth dug all my sides

Makes me feel like one who stole

From Satan’s slides


II

The mouth of defeat sings piercingly

Being cheered on by the drums of fear

The laughter of failure resonates across the dept of doom

If only I can see a ray of cheer

From a sky of sympathy

If only I can feel a stray air

Blowing in smile from these unfriendly breezes

If only I could get wings of a fowl to hang in mid air

To find an outer space

If only…

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 30, 2018

​IN THIS POEM (CRAZY STANZAS)


On this dead branch

Carried by water, I thread

Each step, a shocking surprise

Interlaced with fear

But like a blessed cat with nine lives

The soul carries this body in moving on


II

My only cocoon is you

This poem, where my bed of peace is laid

My only home is you

This poem, where my cool waters pamper for a swim

My only shade is you

This poem, which arrests the murderous sun

And serves a breathing seat amidst all the dying

My only shelter is you

This poem, in the midst of perilous snakes

Which hide in trousers of life to defile my happiness

My only saviour is you

This poem, which baptizes to cleanse my soul

From the daily dirty stones pelted by life’s criminal side

My only hope is you

This poem, you, a perfect diary keeping my mind in

In you


III

I am so far from home

Carrying a load which directs my path

Directing dusty even when tarred roads beg for a drive

Yet I live in you, this poem

You who promise to take me back

Back to the perfect place I belong

That perfect place, where moths can’t pimp me

For the pleasure of the earth

Masking my life into a walking ghostship

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 29, 2018

​WHAT YOU DON’T SEE


A star that annoyingly glitters

With just a 26 alphabetical order

One whose words are like blows

One whose words are like lightning

Striking bad clouds and digging goosebumps

One whose words can draw beauty in minds

One who has arrived in many towns of the nation

And continues to charm

That may be the words on your mind

But what about those you don’t see?


II

A skeletal build

With veins of neglect

Blood of stress and thirst

Meat of hate and pure hunger

Skin of punches of cold in a harmattan visit 

And bowl of heat in sunny days

Nails which have tasted the hammer of many quarries

Eyes which have joined the run against death

Legs which have collapsed and been whipped by need to a wake

Why do I see them so well?


III

In every glitter lies a story

A story that can reflexively call for your sorry

And may even unchain your worry

To get on your sympathy lorry

So clap not in jealousy

Bite no tongue in a revenge challenge

Think of the worry within the glitter

And applaud its shine

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan 27, 2018

IF I HAD LISTENED TO MAAME (CRAZY STANZAS)

If I had listened to maame

I won’t be stuck in the middle of this road of life

Carrying a burden that my shoulder breaks

One that has taken over my sanes

Farming bloody rains around my once starred eyes


II

She did tell me not all that glitters are metalsmithable

And adviced I cleaned, bit into, burned

To verify authenticity before singing the Hallelujah of worship

No matter the wings and shine of my find

Did I listen?


III

The sun preyed on my fancy

And connived with all the garbage in shinning stones

Winking in blinking into my sinking

So I picked what was not

Thinking it was what was

Now I stink so bad

On a heavenly road whose scent mask me out


IV

How can youth so blind

Making this head turn behind 

Even when legs pull?

How can age not be shed

Like skins which outlive their time

To fetch rightness in the past?

How can perfection so wrinkle

In time’s deadly exploration

In giving surprised heart attacks?

How can remorse not be a magician

To right all wrong in all that is strong?

How could I have been deaf to youthful exuberance

Letting maame’s voice go

With the deadly winds of the past?


V

If I had

If only I had

If only I had listened to maame

If only I had honoured the words of my vehicular womb

Earth would certainly have been kinder

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 26, 2018

​IF MY TOMORROW NEVER COMES

If my tomorrow never comes

And my end’s vehicle lands

Will I, like a legless eagle with broken wings, soldier across

To my ancestral land with a smile

Or throw tantrums and be dragged there like a prisoner?


II

If my tomorrow never comes

What will I be on tongues of others?

A chewing gum whose sweetness would be sucked in few seconds

And spat out after I reach earth’s mouth?

Or bile, which would for sometime stay 

In tongues of some unfortunates?


III

If my tomorrow never comes

Would a kind heart take my crippled chick

And hen it despite its current hopelessness

Would it be fed like it needs to?

Given warmth as it needs to?

Tended to as it always needs to

Even when hungry hawks chase?


IV

If my tomorrow never comes

Whose intestines would thunder in pain?

Whose eyes would swim in a bloody sea?

Whose mind would be stirred by a ladle of sadness?

Mouth would call for an explanation train from the quarters of God?


V

If my tomorrow never comes

I wonder the teeth that would open its shop of happiness

The spirits that would pick up my soul in gladness

My deeds that would sum up my fate in the court of death

Above all the hearts that would break into million pieces

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 25, 2018

​ANGEL OF HIDDEN GOOSEBUMPS


There is a summer hut

On the roof of the moon

Which all prying eyes cut

Waiting for us to swoon

So do those problems shut


II

We need our hands threaded in symphony

Our feet running in a perfect dance

To tickling sounds of harmony

Our eyes writing our thoughts in each other at any chance

Making our tongue’s pools our sweet and ever tasteful honey


III

Let our laughter rise from our souls

To massage our feet

And strengthen our soles

As happy songs follow through our street

Through our glowing hollow holes


IV

Oh gracious holes, where jumpy songs metamorphose into cool

Only to our fluttery hearts soothe

Who cares if we merge into a fool

With a heartbeat oh so smooth

As long as we end as each’s perfect loving stool?


V

After tickling ourselves silly

Like magical eagles, let’s fly to moon’s roof

You in me and I in you, even better in the chilly

As we each laugh at our many a goof

Climbing through the hardened even through the hilly

You are after all the angel of all my hidden goosebumps!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 20, 2018

​WHEN HIS PANTS ARE DOWN


Worms wriggle

Dogs bark

Cats mew

So be careful of birthed promises

When his pants are down


II

I know of flowers who have lived on clouds

With plucked stars and moons

Bedding in chariots of all their fantasies

Dancing to the tune of Cupid’s best

Only to fall as rains

Into a hell of fire whose ashes flew

With airs of regrets

Into deserted forests of disappointments

So careful of dishes of promises

When his pants are down


III

They build believable mansions with words

For their tongues are the pencils of architects 

Whose sheets need crumpling sizzles

And tails need your wet wiggle

In their burning passion

Whose lifespan is as short as the shine of fireworks in the sky

So oh beware

Of the sound of holes of deceit

When his pants are down

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 19, 2018

DEAD CANES IN KUKUBALI

Sitting in the past with the wrinkled

As my time’s stars stood in the greenest twinkle

I heard of eyes, potent in closure

Even in most secluded holes

Seeing hectic moles who fates stole

In the near tomorrow

The near tomorrow which garnishes my feet today

Yet I laughed like a wise soul hearing the voice of the foolish


II

Running in the past with the “cruel”

A cane spoke of love with corrective scars

In gift of a future with no blemishes

Maame nodded and applauded her brother

Papa got another to join in

All eyes sparkled 

Hands clapped

I felt like a Jesus never welcomed in his own home

The present now looks at the past with glee

Gifting its long gone hands unmeaningful late handshakes 


III

I dined with the past whose children had ears

Soft ears

The past whose children had no mouths 

In elderly presence

I dined with the past where young ones vanished

Like myths in elderly visitations

And did feed respect on plates of good upbringing

Nana would cry in happenings of today

Watching through spectacles of ancestorhood

Glad I have no lenses to see his countenance


IV

I wonder where all the magic canes of path direction went?

I marvel at the hard ears with sharp mouths

Which toddlers clutch as blessings

I wonder how words put together to protect

Handcuff wills to correct

I wonder

I do wonder how far this belly’s fruit would go with its generation

In madness of rights

What I see in closed eyes of the future

Hell fire so heatedly hazy

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 17, 2018

BE THE LIGHT

In this cave of pain

Where insanity is in rain

Planting needless disdain

Like that felt by Cane

Be the light in my train


II

You know thoughts which sit in the main

Driving me insane

Oh God of my brain!

Break these haunting chain

Which my good waters drain

Can’t you see I am in pain?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 14, 2018

AT THIS CROSSROADS

At this crossroads

Where good leads to bad

And bad leads to good

Stands the whip of fear

At all ends


II

At this crossroads

Righteousness begets pain

While cruelty begets peace

Yet conscience acts judge

With a gavel of suffering


III

The lioness in me battles the sheep I am

The tears in me drowns the heart I have

Weakened nerves promise electrocution

Of wits and sanes and love and suns

Yet this crossroads have no pointers


IV

Is there an ultimate judge

For an afterlife trial in a life’s dilemma?

Is there a hell fire for a righteous crime?

Is there a punishment for a sin of love?

Life’s rhetorics butcher like a savage, at these crossroads

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 12, 2018

​THIS GLOBAL VILLAGE


In the wake of this breaking

Where the world lives a touch away

There is no need for a shaking

Of wits and hurts and hate to stray

For the world goes round and round


II

Today the best sit in an earthquake of disagreement

Tomorrow a small island

Might hold the reigns of power

Riding a great fallen like a horse

In a rough road of gravels,  broken glasses and piercy metals

So there is no need to dig out supremacy

On plates of subduing many

In a championship hunt


III

Oh what beauty will show

If all fingers of nations hold! 

Oh what beauty will show

If genuine hands of nations extend to each other

In a festival of diplomacy

Oh what love will bind

If unbeneficial power’s throat is slit

In a farming of togetherness

We are what we choose to be

In what we choose to do

In this global village

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c)  Dec.  5, 2018

​INSECT TOWN


There is an insect town

On this beautiful living lawn

But all passersby see

Is the beautiful grass and its fee

Yet night planes their insecti-flight

And day takes them from sight

It is like sweat in a fluffy wool

Or vampire ants in a crown stool


II

What is seen may not be

Once roots are brought to be washed on the head of a plain sea

In the ground many bites abound

On land much pretense surrounds

Even though our hearts know in capital letters

We wear our hypocritical matters

Acting in dancing even when we’re being bitten like sweat in a fluffy wool

Or vampire ants in a crown stool


III

My teeth line up

Even when my voice shuts up

When I see eyes turn red

In a covetousness hidden in singing and begging to be heard

What can a hiding ant say

In a convention of hunting lizards on a pay?

Human bodies is mostly like sweat in a fluffy wool

Or vampire ants in a crown stool

Shinning royalty, feeling pains

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 4, 2018

​THE REFLECTING WAKE


I saw your birth

And I feel your dying heartbeat

You are a babe who came with the birth of many ambitions

And like all babies, you had your needy conditions


II

The footsteps of time has seen many changes

From many ranges

Plucking down hopes like ripe oranges

And hanging hopes like fake bells on Christmas trees

Yet our needs pile in readiness

To travel with another you


III

It might be greed to our prides and egos feed

It might be seeds to our ambitions and targets lead

It might be fire woods to our dreams and aspirations 

Turn ashes in the passing winds

Yet our eyes stand open

Like a needy church in a sin zone

Waiting to embrace another in your wake


IV

The tears of thanksgiving

The promises of stoogehood in indefatigable working for your new born replacement

In churches and clubs and houses and streets

Will let you know about human loyalty

But take heart in your death

Knowing you were like this new born

Whose fate tallies yours

Taking time to brush your vampire teeth

Which chewed many in the happiness of others

And clouded to rain on eyes of many

Whose curses justify the happiness at your cruel wake

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec 31, 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​THIS SCAR OF MINE

I am like a peacock
Feathery in coloured beauty

All eyes see is the pride that hides my painful ride

All mouths rap are rumours in parcelled fancy

About my stretches which naught fetches for their eyes

Most ears love the sound of my wrong in the spit of a tongue

None sees the scar beneath the feathers

Funny, they watch from a blurred distance


II

I am like a goat

My fur milking my sweat dry

Confusing my audience

Even when life hits in thundering strikes

They confuse my jump of pain and shake for sanes 

For stubbornness

Claiming disobedience when I walk on live coals

For things of my interest

None cares to know about the scar which drives my need


III

I have a scar 

Which has bought for me an expensive and durable insomnia

A seed freezing stiffly, shaking painfully

In jerks of spittles and fecals

In the town of sleep

Caring not about time

Caring not about place

Caring not about an occasion

Always fighting with swords to light its wounds

Why can’t they see?


IV

Why can’t they see the tears which drives my fears

In a dark tainted expensive limousine of no salvation?

Why can’t they hear

The heart which stops to beat and beats to wail

In a heavy wall of loneliness situated amidst the taunting chaos?

Why can’t they see my fall on the bridge of success?

Could it be they are too low to see?

Why do heavy boots kick my name

Into gutters of shame

A shame they are hunting for keeps?



V

I wish they see what drives their greed

So they can be freed from their shackles of inner and outer battles

For in this rattles of horror

I am trying

Trying hard to hold my own

Mending my scar the best I can

Even in its taste for swords of woundy rekindling

But then again

Why is this dramatic mind confusing few for all

Buying sorrows in my precious vault 

With currencies of over thinking?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 30, 2017

​CHRIST IS BORN

(Merry Christmas to all! Have the best of the season)

We wake with will of a win

Cling to the song of Christ’s birth

Flinging all that carries burdens in a bin

His birth signifies sin’s death

Oh Hallelujah, the king is born!


II

We whistle with warmth wherever

Knowing our lows will never flow with the ending 

Of the river of the year, never ever

And every broken soul will be mending

Oh Hallelujah! The king is born!


III

We work our wrestling within

With hope of eloping any pending traps

Which seeks to wear us out thin

In the hands of the leading as maps

Oh Hallelujah! The king is born!


IV

With or without

Let feuding hands shake

In or out

Let all pain break

Slim or stout

Let pride and egos inflated, roads of healing take

For oh Hallelujah! Christ the king is born!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia ©Dec. 25, 2017

​ON ACCIDENTINOLOGY (CRAZY STANZAS)

Many minds have different layers of thoughts

Superstition leading their mental institutions

Abena, I believe in human fallibilities

We are mostly like stubborn goats

Pushing to the very places whose whips

Still lick their mouths

From the burst skin they plucked from our bodies

Why?


II

Some drivers have turned fishes in alcoholic seas

Driving like swimming in a shark hounding

As passengers hold their seats like cowards

Hoping their hold saves from any incident

Ah!

There are those who think to be late is to be LATE

Flying in the guise of driving

Some love challenging fishes in seas

Pretending their skins have fins 

Going places marked in danger

Some indulge in bacchanalian orgies

Their noses turned noticed rat holes

Lighted into smoke-hood

Their minds heated by hard drugs

Their egos inflated by alcohol

Their daring enhanced by reckless madness

Why won’t accidents and deaths be attracted?


III

Those who visit temples

And temples who accept congregants without scrutiny

Dweebaadweebaa is not written on foreheads

Neither are its neighbours of infestations

Know you are an egg

Whose shells can’t tempt death by falling on its hard grounds

Know you are a glass

Who can’t play pilolo with death

Know you are mortal and a very breakable doll

As happiness beckons on this festive season

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 24, 2017

​CROWERS AND PECKERS


When the crowers of today turn peckers at dawn

Feasting on feeds of hens and chicks

While time walks without turning back

Their future in saucepans of history will be painful

As the only spices on their bodies would be pepper of frustration

Ginger of hurts

Salt of under development

Tears of penury

And cubes of curses

Let earful cocks clean their ears

As they stand on pedestals of high repute

In their youthful dawn

And heed to the call of change

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 22, 2017.