“Eii w’ayɛ fine o
Wo body no aba kama”
Whatever parcels of meanings you hide
In this sentimental showdown
I’ll have you know
That I didn’t fetch an angel from my land of pleasure
To label him burden
Unfortunate are the years of toil
Unfortunate are the years of struggle
Unfortunate are the years of emotional breakdown
But if a real victim lived amidst the horror
It would be he who fought hard and exited grandly
He whose real foods were bitter pills and herbal drills
He whose real water were smelly concoctions impossibly undrinkable
He who was more than a lab rat for certified doctors and fake prophets
He who felt the thunders of seizures and storms of many sicknesses
And had his body on high fires of fevers more than half of each month
He who battled thrice paralysis and won
Worked like a bull by physiotherapists
He who tried hard to box language in actions mostly without success
And lived with the frustration
He, who I summoned into reality to live in suffering
II
So I’ll have you know
He was not to blame
He is never to be blame
Blame must never walk out of your mouth alongside his name
No implications must be sent to my ears no matter how well parcelled
Laying of blame certification lies with me only
And I boldly say
The real blame lies on sickness
Which burdened him more than I
This weight could be stress of letting the self go
After losing my most precious part
So shut it!
You insensitivers!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 16, 2019
