Do not grovel even in a hovel
For each of our remains will taste the dig of a shovel

Idolize your mirror reflections

Even when you face constant rejections

For you are a soul in a body

And a spirit not at all shoddy

You are like a myth in passing

But a warrior on a battlefield facing an axing

Your crown can be knocked onto the ground

Held by a hound

But your swiftness can let you win

Even after being shoved in a bin

None can be a perfect fan for you

Than you

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) July 6, 2017.



Sitting under the umbrella of civilization

I see no village sky

I scan my brain but there’s an incrimination

Thanks to technology patriotism, my mind says fie!


The beautiful sky with the virgin moon

Which has many stars with no fornication to trace

Just sank into disappointments as it lost its swoon

To discos, cinemas and under ceiling pace


All its audience like ship-on-an-ocean lost

The village sky does faze like fake paints

On a slippery slate at hurt’s cost

Its falling stardom squashed by greed’s giants


It took away its fireflies glow

And took away its beautiful photo shoots on earth

And took its mirrors off all that flow

Which to all dark amazing, did give birth


It seems it is taking the storied old

Who garnished forming ashes with stories of old

To attract the smiles of innocence of bold

And made antagonists to seem so cold


Now the trees have lost their loving visitors

And live so lonely because now snakes have fled

Even owls now flee from their spirit hunters

This is where urbanization’s truck, with us, has led

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Maybe you were too forward in your approaches

Maybe you were born with ideas too “future-ristic”

Maybe you were too over zealous in your quest for the best

Maybe you hoped for far too much

But your works remain a legacy


You were rains on the raging fires of colonialism

You were a power mind none thought a black being could posses

You were a developer who thought of your “now” and “future”

You were an indefatigable eagle with wings of protection

You were a fixer with an ever-present  personality

You were a man with the perfect plan in mind for Africa

As you sought togetherness and strength for the weak infant shoots


Maybe power stained your humble thoughts

Maybe winning corroded your human thoughts

Maybe complacency made you lower your protective thoughts

Maybe you were like a great tree which disregarded its stem

But you made your marks and they were deep to last

In the minds and hearts of all, no matter the diversity


We drink water and have thoughts of you

We use electricity with thoughts of you

We go to school and we have thoughts of you

We ply some roads and we have thoughts of you

We think of trains and we have thoughts of you

The great spokesperson

The great gentleman

The great palm tree whose remains even benefit his nation




Making thoughtfuls

Eat the fruits of pain

Oh, you are buried with thoughts unharnessed






Antagonistic and


But you are so gone


If you were like a seed in a fruit

You would have been pampered in holy wombs

Be watered and fed to grow better

And be treated best at your birth

While being nursed for more greatness

But too bad

We pinch ourselves for the shattered pot

Which can never be mended


You lived well

You lived wondrous

You lived in near perfection

Making all feel your blessed impacts

Sleep well although the well you created mostly suffers thirst

Sleep soundly although the wealth you left is now like bread being pested on by termites

Help us in spirit know the buttocks to push on the golden chair you created

And give those buttocks eyes to select hands with the golden touches

Which can help mould the nation you created

We need to keep moving

To maintain the legacy you left for generations unborn

For it is an honourable legacy worth keeping

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



If I am made to write “My Best Friend”
I will think of all the time
My stomach rumbled as you sheltered my rear
I feed you filth
But you provide a seat
And when I am cornered by an angry mob
You are my fortress
My hiding place
On your head, I have thought of the world’s beauty
On your head, I have written like a motivated Confucius
On your head, I have reflected on deeds in flashbacks
As you provide the screens for me to see
To see in remorse
Or be rooted on my grounds
And in all the places
You shield well my tears
Sometimes quenching them when knocks of your visitors sound
By your side no noise from within me is foul
Even if you have a nose
You never ever show you are rude
No matter how crude
I am myself in your presence
There are many a friend
But if I am asked to write on the subject
If I am really asked to write on “My Best Friend”
I know I will write on you Water Closet
Because you have seen many a dirty me
Flushed many a filthy me things
And harboured so much of my downs
Expecting nothing but a clean up here and there
None can you compare WC
And that is why you are my bestie
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015




Bats and owls have gone to bed

On huge trees with great great shade

Cats and bowls may be in shed

In an Ewe’s cravings grade


I am here like a soldiery bridge

Having crossed from a darkened night

I may be faced with a hardened ridge

But I’ll make sure I get no bite


Weapons of truth are like godly arms

I will hold with a prayerful balm

And if I fall by the firearms

I know I will fall into God’s sweet palm

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2015

(Photo Credit: Shika Nornoo)


Magic hand

Give me magic

Magic of thoughts

Give me magic

To salvage all rots


Give me magic

Like a superior angel

To know and touch broken angels

Called and humiliated, abandoned and garbaged


We call those we need

They are called by their own and taunted

Give me a magic thought

And a magic hand to salvage this rot


If I do get the magic

I will sleep not

Always working like a bull on the greenest field

Identifying and touching in healing


Hurtful tears break my heart

“Agyeiiiii! Bue!! Ouch!!! Abound to deafen

Give me the magic, the magic thought and hands, to trash the tragics,

To heal the world

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Kwaku gave Ama a stone
A white nice stone as a gift of love
She kept the stone like a saint
And worshipped its very grounds

It so happened that a flood came by
Stared at the stone and Ama’s family
And swept all of them into the belly of death
Ama searched and searched until Kwaku came
But found not her family or stone

Kwaku was as fierce as a thunderous bull
He raged and ranted and yelled and cursed
Until Ama left on a mission
A mission to hunt her family and the precious stone

Ama went into the forest
Searched in and around seas
And finally sought to rest in caves
There, she heard a shout from a sack
Opened the sack and saw a small pig
She was startled

The pig thanked her for her kindness
And resolved to help her locate her gem
After telling her her family rested with saints
It ended up taking her to Prince Adjei’s palace
Where she found among many a gold, diamond and ivory
The soft handsome Prince’s heart

Kwaku waited in anger
But doped himself in tears and alcohol
When he saw their wedding pictures
And that ended the tale
Of the unbendable
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015 inspired by Dotty



A man stood at the podium

Calling himself “the fire man”

Shouting blessings

Shouting cursings

Until the trial moment came


A child of eight, run to the temple

Panting in a frenzy

Shouting in fear

Of the unimaginable

So the audience asked

“What at all is it?”


Like a Satanic messenger

He unfolded his tongue

“Ei, a man is lying in a pool of blood

Outside the church

With huge blisters all over his body

Judging from his symptoms

A doctor run wild

Saying it is ebola!”


Before the members could sink it in

The podium fell

The fireman fell, stood, shouted and fled

The elders followed

The audience then knew

That standing by the podium

Was a mere water shell

If it had been washed in-shore

Then they too must flee

And so it happened

That the fireman ended up selling dog-chains

By the roadside,

None of his former followers patronising

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



I know you are a good enemy football player

But trust me, your most skilful dribbling,

Make them more than C. Ronaldo’s,

Will be my healthy trainings

Your trials at long shots

Will always go to the corner

Or like an overfed eagle’s shot,

You will send them flying in the heavenly air

Your headings will only give you headaches

As they will always go over my bar

You might win some free kicks

But will end up giving me a goal kick in your confusion

Your throw-ins will mostly taste your foot

And make you cause unpardonable fouls

Incurring the displeasure of your coaches and mates

Wait, you might win some penalties

But your own trainings will make me catch them with ease

Making me win the Golden Hands

Ahhh ah! Your ultimate goal of scoring a golden goal

Will at most bounce to kick you in the face

For you are only a player

Even with strength of others

I will always be the winner

Because I am my 11 month squad

And God is my coach

Even in my hurt zone

He will send a whirlwind to blind you

The anger of it will always make you assault the referee

Giving you a red card

So you try playing me

Play me a few times and risk losing your career

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Could you be just name and fame?

Could your spirit be all fake and lame?

Why will you and your sons

Replace your taste form slaves to leopards?

Did you not know what leopards were

Did you not know leopards never give their paws freely?

Or did you plan a huge royal massacre?

Were the seers not able to see properly?

Could it be the communicators wanted a royal ridicule?

And supposing you were “tafrakye” drunk

Couldn’t the priesthood have hinted you in your sanity?

Who would atone for the slayed slaves of unfortunacy?

Penkye Otu, are you just a god who incites to kill?

Could you be all paint and weapons?


A god, a god you are said to be

A god who raises questions

Could it be you are what many fear to say?


Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015






Yesterday, a very good friend of mine; Sylvanus Bedzrah, nominated me to tell the world what makes me a Ghanaian. Well, I’ve thought it through and these are the things.
1. My name is Abena Amoafowaa Tawia Mansah Sefa Cecilia; Abena, a name I gained after touching the Ghanaian ground on a day ordained by God in birth. Amoafowaa, my box cum part of my surname, a name my late grandmother used to stand on three legs to mention with its appellations: Nana Amoafowaa Jemremedua! Princess of Nana Yaw Adjare of Ekona Clan. No knife must touch you lest it breaks bones of the holder, no harm must come to you, lest the harmer risk his or her family’s extinction. You are the old wise one reincarnated! You will live long!!! (Smiling at this point). Tawia, a name I earned by the sole reason that I was born after twins, Sefa; the other part of my surname. Mansah, another name earned because I am the third of females born continuously without a male. I make the “Cecilia” my last name because it was borrowed. I could legally remove it but I loved and still love the one who added that name to my list of names, plus, she is late so it is more like a deed of hers I want to live with. Legally, I am known as Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia. This is one thing that makes me a Ghanaian.

2. My palate knows grasses and weeds and alien vegetables and also knows indigenous foods like tuo zaafi, banku and okro, ampesi and “potogum hwei gum” but to mention a few. The lands produce good food and I love eating them in style, it is easy to find others calling me names like “a villager” and the rest, what sort of tag is that? Every body comes from a village, please the good food and demonstration of me eating it always, makes me a Ghanaian.

3. We can bicker like old maids, insult politicians who are accomplished as though they are slaves, hail stars and bring them down (not proud of), but many extend their hands when someone is genuinely in need. Family are sacred entities. By the end of the month, money attracts dead relatives who spring up from nowhere, but when help is needed, all hands (sometimes a few anomalies) are on deck, they are always there to show their support and love. Me giving most and receiving no cash but much love; pure or otherwise, makes me a true Ghanaian.

4. I can watch a local parody of Lil Wayne on Ghanaian screens and laugh at the laughing stock that is associated with the original. No tattoos on this one but the face, mannerisms and gestures tell tales of freedom and humour which gladdens my world. The laughter of life which echoes from me and can travel to others in an infectious manner, makes me a Ghanaian. The elephants can battle the umbrellas on the field of politics all they want, but never see the shoes of wars. Even comedians are among political aspirants allowing electorates some comic relief, my pride in most things we do making life interesting makes me a Ghanaian.

5. Whatever you teach me, I can do it to an extreme (on the good side though). So teach me to fly with wings of a hen and I will make sure I get that of an eagle. Hard work earns me the name “witch”, typical Ghanaian show of successful African women.
Kwaku Atta can date 6 women together, he can only be called Kwaku Attah the he-goat. Let me defend one of his women who has two men, and I get to be called defender of prostitutes; melody to my ears. A woman from another planet may choose to go to court for this, as for me, I know this makes me me and shows I am doing well because I am a typical Ghanaian.

6. I know no snow because the sun mostly dances in my Ghanaian sky, sometimes goes overboard, but what do I care? I get to live, feeling its massages on light clothes. I don’t need to live in hundred clothes a day. Snow can never restrict my movement. Just sponsor a trip with me inclusive abroad and you will know by my shrivelled cries that I am a true Ghanaian.

7. Celebration of excellence is the Ghanaian way. Fail and no one knows you. Be around me where writing is concerned and you will hear, “oh her? I know that girl, she is a very close friend of mine”, go abroad and let someone mention my name and you will hear one who has never seen me say; “Oh! That is my sister” That is just by the way. Everyone we respect and love has a “brother” or “sister” attached to his or her name.  Yes, sisterhood and brotherhood, that makes me a Ghanaian, so if I call you Sister Sylvia or Brother Maxwell, know it is a Ghanaian thing of love and respect..

8. So I love taking “trotro” because talking about love, life, politics makes life worthy of living. It is easier to get the biography of an unknown person or know all about the antagonist of another’s life without asking questions. People talk to people freely, known and unknown. So see me talking to someone I just met on “trotro” or in a taxi and laughing my heart out, there is no doubt that I am a Ghanaian.

9. I am a manager by default. The cost of my food alone can be 1000 cedis, school fees, hospital bills, transport cost etc not inclusive while my take home is less than 1000 cedis. Trust me, I can live through the month in perfect stride, don’t mind my “sign dan ho”, my managerial skills makes me a true Ghanaian.

10. I love the natural sights of the Kwahu Mountain, the beautiful Damongo Game Reserves, the intriguing Monkey Sanctuary, the many beautiful waterfalls, the legendary temples but to mention a few. The beauty of nature in Ghana reflects my being, ask me about the realisation of most of these serene places and I will tell you about the many hunters or farmers who chanced upon them. Trust me, that makes me a true Ghanaian.

There are many more I may share in future life if God permits. For now, I choose Nana Awere Damoah and Namerl Tagoe to tell the world ten things which make them Ghanaians.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



If you are mine
The seas of lust
Can swallow you
Like pythons swallow beings
But will vomit you at my doorstep
When the time is right

If you are mine
Alcohol and dope
Can hide your brains
And make me a stranger
In your high site
But will return it and make you find me
When the time is right

If you are mine
You can bleat like a goat
Deny me like Peter denied his Messiah
But your ego will fall
And run to me on fore and hind legs
When the time is right

If you are mine
Let the Twin Towers be grazed into sand
With you in it
Let India’s earthquake
Swallow you in earth’s belly
Let ebola arrest you in its shivery prison
You will be brought to my temple
When the time is right

If you are mine
There will be nothing to sign
Your heart will know mine as his
And will know its owner
When the time is right
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Boy is twisted

Ruins his upper

Uncaged but demented

Chess of a mess stripped into a dress

Ending fatherhood borrowing an old womb



Jesus must be in distress

Eating His disgust by looking unto His father

Never hoping to use His cane

Never wishing to have grown his mother

Emancipation damaged him

Really, God knows that flaunted beauty has turned him into a mess in a dress



Fie on all who kill flower pride

So muscles do wish to be transformed?

Aggressively he shows his prowess

And shows how timid women must be packaged

Even for one who springed from a pen and an is

He is living his dream making us uglies

He is now a lovely mess in a dress

Came as a higher, going down as a lower

Some might call it living it all

I call it cheating nature and God

He surely must produce the stick he lost

When the guards of death go by their human register

It is there he will see, his folly in the life he thought free

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2015




We are like varied but same flowers
Pretty in different shapes, colours and sizes
We are like flowing rivers
Bubbly and dense but burning by rocks beneath
We are like opposing reflections
Speaking in weird deflections
Making dumb demi gods weak
While stabbing ourselves with our double edged daggers
Yes, we are that twisted

I remember when I was with Pee
He asked if I wanted the dress I was staring at
I said no when my head had worn it
And the mirrors of my mind’s eyes
Had caused me to applaud
Although I could afford
I wanted it as a gift from him to worship
So I kept mute making him feel like a child in the wrong for nothing
We parted with tension being our paths
Of course he knew not
That my kind and I are that twisted

Of course I know you are no magicians
But I wanted Kwasi to hold me tight
As I struggled to be freed
And kiss me in style

Saying sweet nothings of assurance

While stroking my hair in play
But he left when I said no
Knowing not that my kind and I
Are so twisted

Akweley told me of her date with Duodo
He had asked if she wanted a party for her birthday
She said she had said no
Hoping he would give her a surprise

Featuring her family and frriends
Too bad, he had no clue
That most flowers are twisted

Maame told me about Kwame
He had wanted to take her to his parents
She had said no
And needed command
Showing he was serious like the knight in shinning armour
But he had said okay
Incurring her wrath
Poor dude
He didn’t know
That we are so twisted

Wendy wanted her friends jealous
Obviously wanting Ofosu to kiss her in their midst

Giving open declarations of their love

To make them know she had her catch
But he felt the pangs of shame
When he touched her and she shouted her no
Poor him, he did not know the formula
That we are twisted in wiring

We are twisted
Tight fisted in clarity
We are damaged
Loving commandments in Lovity
We are dogs who bark
Mostly with no intentions to bite
We are water, always needing our cups
We are special beings
Who know not our own formulas
We are lionesses mostly needing tamers
We are what we’ve always been in denial
We are oh, what is the word?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Another morning visits

Coming with its stomach

Its need for clothing

Its need for being walked or driven like a dog

Its need for dialogue

And its many conflicts in diversity



Abena, like the earth which must hosts it,

I succumb to its whims

Allowing myself to be played like its guitar

For I don’t want to be the failed host

So like a broom, I sweep its need

Hoping it would be merciful in shortening my span

But I keep getting piercier and stronger

Sweeping its needs cleaner by the day



I know its strains will make me weak

And my weak will make me seek

And my seek will make me leak

And my leak will make me meek

In stillness and transition into a shadow after a ghostly peak

But I still work to be a good host

A good host so I can also at least boast

Of being a good care giver

One who was brave enough not to shiver

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2015



“I love you,

I can’t live without you,

You are so beautiful!

Hey no one compares to you

I will die for you

I am so into you

Hush and feel my heart beat for you”

These are old rags Buried by some ancestors

Who died thousands of years ago

A real lover is one who mimics not

So stop digging into mouths decayed in tombs

And be real, as real as the sun pinches the sky

With its rays to make it wince in light



How delightful it will be

If you feel hatred  and you say it sweet

And whip in lust to fetch the smile

And kill the frown

To plant seeds of trust



Oh! How delightful it will be

If flatulence flies in murderous smell

To dig the demons hidden under packs of facades

Only for days to clear the foulness

For the sweetness of being oneself to force happiness



Oh! How delightful it will be

If none fakes and wears lies

And all cry, dance, play and say it all

In raw forms

Forcing ingenuity to return from its hidden space

Too bad, everything is draped in clothes of fakeness

Culminating into duplications of déjà vu

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2015



Running sweats 

conceived by mating muscles

and mobility in tiredness


Chapped skin

like burstings of mud zones

whipped by hot sunshine


Palms calloused

like the skin of a rough tree

displaying wares hoping for money exchange


You realize nothing is easy

when you see frustrated breath

running through noses 

on their hind legs,

their heat beats that of fires hands down


There really are sun whipped beings

You have seen nothing yet

Until you step on the heart of Dagbon’s Aboabo

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



When they turn goats

They don’t see their own productions

When they turn goats

They hit all notes, no matter how high



When they turn goats

They sniff like no other

And pounce before looking

At the strong or defeated target



When they turn goats

They  swim in tricks

Noticing they are pricks

Gunning all chicks, dodging thrown bricks


When they turn goats

They have no brakes

So crash or maim:

Men with queer sticks

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2015



Like plantain leaves

We roll up


Extend our hands to enjoy the weathers

And are heated to dry

As the tree of life shoots up

And generates new leaves


We are leaves

In the winds

In our newness

We dance

In our brown age

We fall


I pray new shoots

Live in their bloom

I hope their weathers

Come with suited feathers

I pray theirs heads

Get to hear

See and learn

To fence their breezes

Until their brownies break their resolves

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



When love turns sour

All hormones bore

Oh! How I wish there was a law

A law which forces love to tour

Tour and catch happiness to the fore

To calm all “the-bored”,

Store “fore ever “

And stamp “Happy Ever Afters”


Oh carnivorous bitterness

Oh taunting thoughts of unfairness

Oh forceful streams of tears

Quench all love fears

Pressing its bitter gears


When love turns sour

All wish to have stored

Beginnings on all mind boards

To sack chaos from that love tour

Oh! Sickness at heart

Oh! Horror of soul

Oh! Madness pulling bodies of headaches

Curses on you breakages!


Oh carnivorous bitterness

Oh taunting thoughts of unfairness

Oh forceful streams of tears

Quench all love fears

Pressing its bitter gears

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


Moving Clouds

Working like horses
Can rise like mountains
To look down on the flowing rivers
Of poverty

Together like bees
Can be highly equipped
To battle alien soldiers

Of corruption

When wires of confusion
Develop fingers of wickedness
As fingers of indifference sit on
Other walls in folding
We, can break free if all eyes stand on guard

We are our rains
We are our suns
We are our loud resounding thunders
We are our clouds
We are our shrouds
Why are we our own Frankenstein monsters?
If we can blend
These parts we are
We will gun our haunting frightening lions
And make our habitat fairer than Zion
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Love has many definitions. It has been described by many as beautiful, surreal, while others think ill of it. If love were a human being, many are those who would have fought because of him or her. Whereas some would have wanted to keep it, others would have wanted to maim or lynch it. It is these emotions which lead to the maiming and killing of many a once in love partners.

When one falls in love, there is the usual feeling of happiness, of security, of expectation, of protectiveness, of trust, of defence, of planning for forever ever after, but there are only few who get their forever ever afters. Does that mean the rest are failures? No. When one falls in love and the relationship breaks in the middle of a failure ocean, it marks the beginning of war. Yes, war. War with self and war with the broken part, war which can be temporary or permanent depending on the discipline of the persons involved. You know what they say; it takes two to break a relationship.

Why will this be? Because the human emotion is like a computer with keypads. What is saved is what it produces when the right words are keyed in. And remembrance brings thoughts, thoughts bring hurts which light the heat of emotion and cause us to boil in anger, to shed tears, to become bitter.

What hurts most is when the other party moves on without you. You feel a sense of grief, a sense of loss, a sense of being left behind and what is scarier is the fear of remaining alone forever. If care and discipline are not adopted, we find ourselves planning scenes of revenge, thoughts of embarrassing the other party and his or her new flame and following through with the plans and thoughts. When we get to that point, what we need to know is that the love of someone you were once with is not your bonafide property. If it doesn’t work out with you, the other party has the right to move on. No matter how much it hurts, if you stop and also look, you can find someone who will make you forget about the past. If you deem it too much of a risk to venture into the realms of love again, then you must discipline yourself from interfering with the life of the other party.

Yes, love is beautiful when mutually shared, love is wonderful, when the glow comes from all people involved and it glitters blinding others in jealousy and attracting others to fantasize, but when trust is breached or something sparks fire which cannot be quenched holding hands, the logical thing to do is to quench that fire in parting while taking time to heal and to move on. You will be burned, bruised maybe, but scars of love are marks of experience, they equip and shield you when you reach love zone in future.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2015



Flowers in colours
What are you blooming to show?
Attraction to your nectar?
By droppings of scents?
“Dib dib dib, dibi dibi di haa
Dib dib dib, dibi dibi di haa”


Flowers with paints
What are you painting to show?
Erasing of age routes?
Concealment of colour?
“ka ka ka, Kai Kai Kai ki kaa
Ka ka ka, Kai Kai Kai ki kaa”


Flowers with pen hands
What are you writing to show?
That you are spirits to be worshipped?
gods to be bowed to?
“wu wu wu, wui wui wui wiii waa
wu wu wu, wui wui wui wii waa”


Flowers of bowing
Why are you bowing like slaves?
To stand in shadows?
Be kowtowed in finger bands?
“ah ah ah, aha aha ahaaaa
ah ah ah, aha aha ahaa”


Flowers of sadness
What are you sorrowing to show?
Pain of some tramplings?
Shame of some hurtings?
“co co co, cor cor cor cor’d
co co co, cor cor cor cor’d”


Nectars stay in
Pulling with scents
Drippings eventually empties their barrels
Those paints are inks
Washable by rain
Painting drains
And cost a ton
Pens are mighties
To be used fairly to shine
To spiritize is horror
For its gods are ruthless
Bowing is for God or gods
Shadows are for once livers
Getting one’s shadow
To push another, writes well, writes well
Sadness needs an outlet
An outlet of saintly revenge
To hush the hurters
And rain blood in their hearts
So “pu pu push, pu pu push for betters
Pu pu pu, pu pu push for betters”
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


images (2)

You are my model

And the face on my magazine cover

You are my light

In the darkest on nights

You are my warm bed

And my storm shed

Who but the creator pierced us together?

You are an interesting needle

So I’m in your hole

Let’s just keep threading

Until we sew a full life

You are my heavens

Full of diversity

You give me your gently moon

And light your sun

Just for my visibility in mobility

I would be lost

If unseen hands tear you from me

I would be nothing without your breath

All your gestures are geared towards my facial light

As for fights, they compliment our loving heights

I am now melting into your bones

At this point, why do we need four legs instead of two?

Why do we need four hands instead of two?

Why do we need four eyes instead of two?

A great sigh from you gives me the answer

God gave us doubles

To keep us out of troubles

I am grateful He was so thoughtful

Now come, let me sip from your mouth’s stream

You serene sea of great sight

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



As the fires lick

Your dried fallen leaves

And bite into its bones

As it shouts in pain


I stand teary

Prompted by the smoke that it emits

With genuine fears of no protection from age

Shiverings! Oh shiverings!


Scary, how time only wears high heels

Making sure ears hear its footsteps

To force them into halls of panic

Scary! How leaves so young

Are consumed by the fire which savoured you whole

I now know the lighter is a mole


I can’t believe you’re left in smoke and ashes

Can’t believe the sweetest being

Has turned into hurter of eyes

Passing rudely to join the clouds

Your vacuum can never be filled

And I wonder these goodbye-hands

Have a spectator in your smoke or ashes


It is a wonder that I can see not

The mole who lit you up

And awaits to pounce on my future

Bearer of my mother

Do create a peaceful ocean

Like you did for me on earth

So my burnt smoke can swim in

Like a free fish

In yonder years

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015




Bɛɛɛɛ! Bɛɛɛɛ!

What are we to do now?

Our murder loom

As our bodies are being craved

And seen as delicacies in clothes of spices

To be grinded first by stones in their quarry

And then sent to be grinded again in enclosed insatiats

Who think celebrations must see us as things without breath


Who are the we?

Who is easily caught?



Because your naughty ways

Take you places of reaps

As you fear no maps

And I am only ever obedient

Because of piety

Even their religion claims me the most obedient

In their Holy Book


See what your goodness brought you

Were you exempted from the fear of  knife

By every occasion that travels yearly?

Forget about your explanations,

Your you is you

An your I is I

The reason being I have speed

Speed you lack

So cry your cry


Qua qua qua qua quaaa quaaa

Stop the noise both of you!

Even we with wings are quiet

Don’t you know humans are brutes

Some can fetch us even in the sky

Their tricks have speck-less eyes

When their feelings for our deaths become stronger

I am thinking of my children

Who are barely their breadwinners

A mother, poor poor mother!

A Mother!

I might be spared

If their greed for more is not quenched


That leaves your suitors woes

As they look at each other

Knowing not their fate

I am a bit safer

Muslims are the known cow butchers

Because they have riches

That Christians lack




Let’s find ways of leaving o!

There! Knives are coming o!


Cow, you’ve said something great

They deem you expensive

Followed by us

I need to calm my fears

Before pressure’s knife  bites into my heart


That’s why I asked that

You turn into scavengers

Feeding on their corpses to scare them off you

The best way to always be on top

Is by making your fear your chewing stick

Or your favourite meal


(All at once) 



Qua qua qua quaaaaa!

Kokro koooo!


Be gone! Away!

Who called you here?

You a a corpse lover

Not fit to live among humans

At least we are allowed


So weep not in palpable death

Keep quiet an suffer

Even without occasions

Remember some of you will go

And your bodies will be kept in cold fridges

Waiting for cravings of your bosses

I will gladly digest your debris

When the time comes

Of I go, and good luck!




Qua qua qua quaaaaa!

Kokro koooo!


Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015f



Death for freedom

Freedom from evil

Freedom from pain

Freedom from fear

Freedom from principalities and powers

Freedom for sainthood in happiness

Now that freedom’s head is in the armpit of chaos,

Enslaved by brutality

Being beaten by atrocities

Spit on by materialism

Stamped on by selfishness

Being slapped by earthly ticklings

And insulted by bonds of Satan

Did Jesus go wrong

By shedding his precious blood like a sheep

On the cross of Calvary?

Mary’s womb churns

Pinching her and cursing her pain

In the soil of her eternal rest

Because time’s travels are rendering her seed useless

Oh she too travelled nine moons!

It is an Easter to feaster

An Easter of beasters

An Easter of leasters

Trashing the gesture of the Holies

Which aimed at an earthly heaven

So so sad!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



We live,

Through the snaking smiling gutter maimings

To the sitting smokes which puff to mate into killing


We live

Through the dotty salaries

To the gargantuan prices on needed edibles


We live,

Even though we are being ruled

By a rich dead goat who fears no knife


We live,

Even though important monies

Sneak into pockets of supposed helping leaders on earth


We live,

Though we climb judgement debts

And pant at the herculean mountain


We live,

We definitely live on

We live on, through the wobbling of the nipples

Of the abused Ghana, calling ourselves her sons

We live and we will live

We live and will forever live

We live and will forever live

Even after the dead goats jump in soup on fire

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015 



After “I do”

Pleasures turn responsibilities

Love becomes a lazy worker

And reality shows its full self


After “I do”

Carelessness sits like a new born child

Magic of dazzles wanes

As metaphorically blinded eyes are made clearer 


After “I do”

Laughables become irritants

As temper holds spears

In feminine and masculine oppositions


After “I do”

Most “do” show their attendant “n’t”

But late it may be

So chaos rises like a doom warrior


After “I do”

Discipline puts its test papers

In front of the couple each day

Until artificial or natural departure

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



He lived like a goat

Taking all the beatings

And wearing debt’s coats

Took all the curses

He rode tear boats

Taking all the beggings

He yielded to no antidote

Until Afia asked him why.


Mr. Kadeka laughed out loud

Sat his buttocks

And looked so proud

Craned his neck

To clear the path’s shroud

And pulled at his tobacco

As he shunned his crowd

He then prepared to answer


“I owed a woman

When I was young

I could not have that money

Still, I stayed strong

But my muscles turned fire

When she came along

Every path I took even in sleep

I wanted to know where I belonged

But fear always rang

In my heart in a fearsome ding dong

At the mention of her name

I knew I was among

The convicted criminals

Who sang freedom songs

One day, I heard her coming

And realised I had lost my keys

I jumped in a well and nearly drowned

And that was when I faced my fears

There is nothing “I don’t have” can give to “wants, needs, give or force” 

My dear, let me be myself

Owers show the owed”


And so it happened

That on the day he died

Many he owed, were paid in excess

He made a will to include them all

And wrote his sorry amidst his worry

Man, I won’t die over owing pennies

Because he lived nine decades

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



As morning stretches

On dawn’s mat

In thought’s cover cloth,

Fears wear high heels

Looking for who to attack.

Just who is willing to be that pawn?


What pain on earth has never, ever tasted life

Or is never, ever going to taste lives

That you sacrifice happiness for fear?

Those heels, will never get me

And if they do, they can never harm me

I’m like a metal

If they are like wires

Their bruises, will only show my bright colours

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Tears of children rise

From empty stomachs

Wasting energies without

For innocent faces to get visitors of drowning tears,

And you sit on thrones fighting superiority?



Many enterprises die

Killed by lack of energy foods

School children embrace darkness

And shun learning

Through no fault of begging books

And you, on high pedestals think of propaganda?


Africa oh Africa!

Corruption is a bulldozer

Breaking down the very foundations

Our ancestors toiled to build,

Making hot love to drivers who swore to save

And you sit claiming you have great history

When the pungent scent of your history

Murder noses in far away geographic arena?


Do I need to talk diseases

When it is most horrible than faeces?

From AIDS, Malaria to ebola:

The slow to hot killers

What good can sitting resources do

When many mouths are open

Ready for its consumptive arrest?


Africa oh Africa!

You do have great cultures

Tainted by carelessness

Africa! Africa! Africa!

Wake from your slumber

And get an agenda!!!!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Why sin was made ineluctable,

Abena, I do not know

Its terribly sweet whispers

Its beautiful shapes and colours

Its mysterious rush of adrenaline

Its promises of gain

Rubbed by its soothing balm of satisfaction after success,

Erase thoughts of its consequences


There I was

Standing at the threshold of sin

Watching Amidu cuddle an apple with thorns beneath

I called, Amidu, watch out!

Amidu, watch out!

But he heard only after he had deep wounds

On his third leg after cunningly using it to step there

Ei! Why must sin cover ears of all?


Just after that,

I watched as Quaye sneaked to capture

A golden casket

I looked and saw it was a trap to get a corpse

I screamed and screamed in warning

But I guess he heard me from the life of beyond


I hate to hate sin

Because it catches me anyway

Tying my friends, family and all

Ensuring our fall is a call

Seductive snake in synergy with pain

To seduce and reduce to naught

Please put some clothes on you

We are tired of your pornography!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


images (1)

Sound the bell

Let actions tell

Of the tree which fell

For the lovely Mel

In an analogy which sells

And I will step into the shoes of Mel

And wouldn’t mind being the tree which fell



Long go, a huge tree fell

Across a trench which was so deep

It fell to tell the lovely Mel

Of its desire to see it smile so wide

Forever than time could ever tell

Mel was travelling to sell her heart

She stopped the sale and nursed the tree

Until it stood so straight

And stayed under its shade forever



So sound the bell

And let your actions tell

Of your wish to make me

Your lovely Mel

And I will never my heart sell

And will give it freely for you to shade

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2015



Fall into my arms

And let’s recite the Psalms

The Psalms which draw

And brings passionate beauty to the fore

The Psalms which tickles

And has a fragrance which sizzles

When morning breezes wash their faces

As the sun approaches watching its paces

The gates of its arms will be opened

Like red roses open to embrace the world

When dawn yawns

As day opens its eyes

My Bible will be opened to Psalms

And all troubles will be killed with arms

So prepare to fall into my arms

In a day dressed in red and white

Giving options to hearts to bleed or laugh

Till darkness draws its curtains

These arms will lock you in

And pamper your sorrow to chase its lover in another realm

With a shining armour which cuts for thanksgiving

And slaughters loneliness to vanish

I have only a wish for all these

Cook me a love meal tended with salt of foreverness

On this day of love

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2015




We started on clouds

Now pride ties us like a rope

Dangling us in air



How did we get here?

Mouths playing opposition

To our hearts true sounds



How did we get here?

Tears for the open hidden

And shed in the dark



How did we get here?

Ears with drum sticks for loud tongues

Getting our hearing



How did we get here?

Backs in great distance instead

Of chest hugging chest



We are now puppets

Yes, puppets being played by pride

Tearing us apart

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2015




Selling sin sores

Satan saw such seal;

Saints seek supremacy,

So Satan sold to series of saints


“Send sinners to the stakes”

Supposed saints say in symphony

Silly, scents of sins

Sorrowfully  stay on the saints


Stop sending sinners to the stakes

Saints are sentenced to sell sins too

And if saints say sinners should be sacrificed

They sacrifice their sins yet to be sold

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



After her lips was kissed

by the harmattan

which left its peels as her souvenirs,

she resolved to begrudge rain

which failed in its rescue

and like one fighting her soul,

she basked herself in her madness


She boxed with revenge

and was punched by thirst

still, she boxed with hatred

and was punched by sore throats

still, she boxed with mind games

and realised the rains have no minds

Akweley was distraught


The rains decided to taunt her

by taking everything that it possessed

she could not sweat, urinate nor sneeze

her intestines sang dirges by drinking her blood

her heart kept rebelling by hitting her breath 

with desperation, and just when the gates of death opened,

she got to know that none can fight rain

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



After my parting

I hope the world remembers not

The stench of my farthings

And only sees the marks of my sweeping broom



After my parting

I hope none cries for gains lost

And that my only son lives

Growing in pride over my short existence



After my parting

I hope my students remember my fire

And use my dead wood ends to rekindle their strength

To live fearless to impact positively



After my parting

I hope friends curse me not

For taking with me my smiles and giggles

Leaving a void none can fill



After my parting

I hope many hold hands to help the autistic

Offering help instead of disdain

Giving out a little to make grand for their living



After my parting

I wish to look back and smile

At the perfect world I left behind

Or the near perfect world trying perfection



I can boldly face whatever

If I see what I need to see

And realize I impacted like a blessing bomb

After my parting

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2015



The internet rocks

Being the gossip which knows all

And readily shares


As just as it can

It produces all it’s given

Like a tutored child


So many regret

When their weaknesses are keyed

Looking for cover


Those with self goodies

Always need circulations

For fame and stardom


It is the created

With the power over all

And can raise and fall

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Carrying the heaviest house

Knowing it can’t compete a sick mouse

The tortoise still moves in search

Of its daily manna


Knowing a step-on is its horrid accident

And the steppers would never give it a lament

The ant still moves in search

Of its daily manna


Even the lions know their Zions

Can be burnt with just a hot iron

But they still chase rats

Who are chased by the hunter’s fire


So feel the fire

To meet the require

To get your desire

Instead of sitting tied by a lazy wire

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



I’ll put you in a song

Where you really belong

From when you came along

To the time you run along


For you were the rain

Which promised me gain

But drove me insane

In a long short lane


You said you were among

Those who many do long

Because your sweet sweet song

Does chime the heart’s ding dong


But you were the rain

Which promised me gain

But drove me insane

In a long short lane


After you beat the gong

In the middle you throng

You really did me flung

Into the dirty Pong


Oh you were the rain

Which promised me gain

But drove me insane

In a long short lane


Didididi ding dong

Oh God who hears this song!

Send him where he belongs

I sing many gong dongs


For he was the rain

Which promised me gain

But drove me insane

In a long short lane

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Who gave it breath?

To eat and live

And act like the wolf

Which eats beings without fangs?


Who gave it eyes

To see all colours

To judge and harm

Souls of beings with no known knives?


Who wore it clothes

To make it perfect

To taunt all beings

Who’re being flogged by poverty?


Who gave it arms

To force and tie beings

With the aim of stifling

To seize most breaths?


Who gave it those unseen fangs

To destroy at a glance without mercy?

I just had to ask again

Although it does some good,

It is the ruthless policeman of all times

What beings call society

Is now the caretaker of all mentalities

Causing fear and panic among responsibles

Knowing not what troubles

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



I need to rap

No one should tap

I’m not on laps

When impressed, just give some claps


I’m now a bird

I’m not on a bed

So why are your eyes red

When I’m building my shed?


Let me live like an eagle

And soar like an eagle

No need to act like an angel

Nor direct from an angel


I’ll give you a tap tap and a tap

To get you out out out of your rap

You may not be on a lap

But surely you need to give a clap

For the one who fed you until now to rap

For the one whom you’re telling not to tap

For she moulded your head to wear a cap

And thought not about her sleeping gap

Before your birth, she could rap and rap

But your intrusion gave her the tap to “stap”

Just take it from me and read your map

Or take a break and get a nap

To think of your thoughtless silly rap

So you can call your life into a wrap

After knowing you really deserve a tap

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



When turtles swim into the shore

Hoping to see the ones before

Little do they know what waits in store

If only they knew seas have no law


When baby eagles wait in bore

Hoping to be the flyers at the fore

Showing mothers they can take the tour

Little do they know about falls in store


Like the dogs who snoop to know

Like the ants who look to find

Like the lioness who patiently wait to pounce

All livers need to choose a pace to thread

For in the end, we are dependant on earth

We either feed or perish

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



God, I need a date

A date which cannot wait

So I can show you my plate

Before I become late


God I need a date

A date to strengthen my fate

By knowing all my baits

And securing all my gates


Oh Lord give me that date

To know the root of all hate

I don’t want to end up like my friend Kate

Who wondered until she became late


Oh Lord give me that date

So I can share with my mate

And hit cruel liars pate

After I, their sermons rate


If I get that date

I know I’ll save my state

So we can graduate

From this state before we’re late

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



The church calls

Won’t you heed to the call of change?

The church calls through the voices of cocks

Won’t you wake to the sounds they make?

Wake to the sounds  of the fashionistas

Wake to the sounds of the “lusters”

Wake to the sounds of pastors who mentor on beds with passion

Wake to the calls of the stooges who hold the legs of the church

You can also wake to the sounds of the pure hearted who prays for peace

In a church with many groups

You have a choice to join any

That is what modernity has done to the church

Divisions in division

Like a little potato shared among the countless

Oh wait!

Wake or they may crush like they crashed the gods of indigenous Africa

Just a naughty thought

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Wrapped in beauty

Are the rots with shiny eyes

Booting goodness

With their long legs of deceits and fancy


Wrapped in the rots

Are the goodness sent to hell

By heads doped in the rot

Into the reverence of its essence


A world, so harmed

By bad, so wrong

Yet minds, don’t think

And hearts, are captured


I need that heart that works so great

I need that head which thinks so great

Not that which see factions as tools

To be used to breakage and dumped for new


I’m calling

Why is there no voice?

I’m calling, why do I get no response?

Like an echo roaming in rocks

My voice reverts after decades to me

Poor, poor them and me

We were brought to many things see


Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015