He owns diamonds in silver
And claims he deserves it because of his wastage of saliva
…on his make-believe podium
Now he selects juicy apples to crack on his mat in hues
…to mark to live above sin
…as his following Johns look and join
In an open revelation awaiting the original Revelations
Still, the church dwells on “touch not my anointed”
…to condone the foolishness in planting

Poverty is the spirit posing holy to bless his people
Hunger is the hope-whip
…forcing them into fasting and prayers
…with deluded hope of an opened heaven gate
Deception has gauged the eyes of the minds of all followers
Leading manipulation to play them like strings on a piano
Adorned with beads of loss
…the followers find struggling beautiful
They preach their state godly in light
And see the right as Satanic in darkness
All because the anointed can do no wrong

Whatever voodoos they use to enchant
Is working beyond measure
As even some educated get misled
…like stupid sheep
…shedding the clothes of hardwork
…to put on gowns of deceptive miracles
How can our feet see the right paths
…to turn into roads
…to reach the destination of development?

Preachers breaching codes to leach on the helpless!
Worms acting cobras to poison a whole section!
Your fires of hell are fast approaching
…through the dragon of enlightenment
Your reign must come to an end
For the whole to recover
…from the horrible holes you’ve dug with your pickaxes of greed
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia September 22, 2019


Yaa I
Abena- Boɔ is a mysterious being, I swear!
See, just last week, Maame Ama’s cat
Escaped Efo Dzakpasu’s bɔtɔ
And found an opening in her window
So decided to find some protection from its assailant
In her room
All we repeatedly heard was
Ei abayifoɔ yi! Ɔbayifoɔ, ɛnɛ deɛ w’ahyia!
By the time we reached there
The poor Nyame Bɛkyerɛ had joined its ancestral cats
Painfully through her banku ta

Yaa II
That is not all o
Just five days back,
Akua Mansa woke up at dawn to sweep
Only to see this same Abena-Boɔ
Sitting in front of her room with something whitish
Smeared all over her face
Akua shouted and run off shouting
“Kakai o! Kakai!”
The next morning, Eno Abena made a song out of “Abayifoɔ yi a mo wɔ fie ha yi a!”

As if that is not enough
Four days ago,
Her mother came with her sisters to visit her
She poured salt all over them
And swept their footsteps
Like they were some kind of garbage disposed at her doorsteps
All the while shouting “ei abayifoɔ o!”

Yaa IV
As for what happened three days ago,
I was so scandalized!
We were all outside when some cockroach
Being chased by some fowls passed by
She quickly picked praye-tia and started hitting it
All the while shouting “hwɛ hwɛ hwɛ hwɛ, hwɛ abayifoɔ no!”

Yaa V
Just yesterday
We were all sleeping when we heard
“Obi mmɛgye me o
Abayifoɔ yi pɛ sɛ wɔn kyere me we o”
We rushed in to see
What she termed witchcraft
Was the shadows of the swaying palm fronds
Elongated by the outside light

Yaa VI
Don’t laugh!
What at all is this?
What is the definition of witchcraft?
No wonder she has no job
And lives off her poor old husband
Who comes through once in a fortnight

But what could be the cause of her shadow fearing?
Aha! It could be that new pastor
What is that his name again?
Wɔ Pɛ Wo Akum Wo
Causing confusion after spending her few pesewas

Kofi I
So all you know is the name of the pastor?
You mean all you’ve seen are these few scenarios?
Then listen and listen well
The name of her church is He Will Kill Your Enemies Jesus the Just Church
Before I travelled, my young son asked me to watch her
So he could show me something
He just clapped
And Eno Abena somersaulted three times
Don’t laugh

Kofi II
I gave him a beating and warned him
But Eno went on to sprinkle stone salt in front of our door
I felt somewhat afraid
I mean, clapping and foot stumping are all they do at their church
Why then did it startle her?
And coming from a child of 6?
Stop laughing Yaa
Maybe she found herself in place of Satan
And felt the clap aiming at her
But truthfully, if this is to continue
I fear for her
Ah! There comes my cue, my rice is burning
You know wifey has travelled
See you later!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © April 15, 2019


Maybe my engine of worship needs oiling
Maybe I have, like Satan, been alienated
By blasphemous thoughts which have walked miles from my past
Throwing the bitter dust of yesteryears into my spectacled eyes
Maybe I am a stranger in a manger of convincing
But why me?
The smiling sky with fair air
Is not the mirror reflection of countenances
Forcefully wearing makeup of worship
Need written on the almost completely feminine congregation
I could see the acts of sheepdom
Kneeling and pleading for whatever their hidden hearts pin
I can see the goat acts
Shouting in pride with a parcel of confidence
That spells heaven-at-all-cost
But reeking, had-it-not-been-for-Bra Kwame
I can see the dog acts on minds shaped to need companies
To build more mouths than their storages worth
The few male commodities reeking of honey of self importance
I can see the over possessive female cocks
Yearning for attention through tongues they themselves believe not
Why can’t any sweat shine with perfumed oil?
I guess their pockets have week after week been weeded and burnt
Just for the space and beautification we see
Look at the dukus garnishing heads in entirety,
In halves,
And those with previous mermaid hairs in inviting head garnishing
Poor group, hoping at least for cuddles in their hurdles
With eyes purely spiritual and none realistic
No, poor me with a soul so lost
A mind so going to hell’s peak of heat
A heart detested by the heavens
A pure black sheep among white souls,
Only with skins of blackness seen by stained mortals,
Like that lost sheep which will either be caught by wolves
Or fall in a ditch
Or killed by mere thorns
Who am I to ever, ever see and think
Let alone talk about the heavily suited shepherd with deafening mic
Whose skin might be raining into his ovened shirt
As he leads his sheep through shouting and translations?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 21, 2018


They say he who fetches water

Breaks the pot

So he who goes to sit under Odomankomah’s umbrella

Enjoys the shade under torrential rains

And is able to dodge the scorching sun

But did I fall into an army of hungry ants

Bathed with sugar?

I went to the temple

To listen to the gospel

And saw some Adam’s apples

Dancing on God’s perfected tree

 Winking flirtatiously in whispers with the blowing air

To wake the demons asleep in my throat

Agya ei!

If Adam who had direct contact with Nyankopon Twereduampong 

Couldn’t resist just one apple in temptation

How could I resist the many

Whose succulence filled the lenses of my eyes

Wherever I turned?

This na church palava!


Our elders know best

That is why they asked that sleeping dogs be allowed to lie

Even when new wounds are formed

So who asked them to wake mine

When I had multiple gun shot and arrow wounds?

There were the needy prayers

Whose voices could wake the rotten dead

The lusty preacher

Whose eyes could pierce through a heart millions of miles away

Combing through in selection

And oh

I saw the mutual winks with some apples

And I felt the fallen and ones being hunted to be plucked

What was I to do?

Rome’s rules are meant to be followed

There were the long hands

Waiting for the coffers to taste the dew of darkness

There were the ladder climbers

Combing through hidden CV’s to find their bearing frames

And two leggeds calling with body light

For a pair to pair

So why couldn’t I take a bite of an apple

From a tree which saw to my birth

When doctors say their needles are kept away

When an apple a day is taken?

This na church palava!


With these walking noisily in my mind

Why did the preacher pick his words from the scented flowers

Of songs of Solomon?

Where the allure of seduction walked like a beautiful mermaid

Sent by the goddess of twisted love

To harvest ripe and growing tree muds

Whose power bombs are locked away in cages?

Why did they have to open these safes with fire?


This na church palava!


Every crown must have thorns

Every clothes must have biting ants

Every pillow must have haunting dreams

Every bed must have piercing thorns

As every right goat and its stinking pate



Here I stand amidst three apples

Now knowing they were harmless fruits

Whose hurt could turn them blood suckers

Which part of my body will first taste a vampire teeth?

Oh! And just after church service!

This na proper church palava!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (a) July 2, 2017


What do You not see at your worship?
Fancy clothes hiding tempts
Who boldly stand as vying angels
With mischief in wallets of their hearts

What do You not see at your worship?
Skillful and hungry pythons
Acting like prophets bitten by the famous holy ghost
Of course, how else can they get the unsuspectings to swallow?

What do you not see at your worship?
Screaming snakes
With tongues spewing carefully made ink
Faking words from Your unknown bed chambers

What do You not see in Your high seat?
Watchful and shameless cats
Who manage to guard meaty coffers
Wearing darkness of paws
To feed fat from Your frying pot

What do You not see at Your worship?
Insatiable hunters who act like game
Wearing masks of sheep
Baaaa-baaaring festive lovers
Into caves fit for their bullets

What do You not hear at Your worship?
Unmatched symphonies of needs
Battling themselves
Like die hard warriors
On deadly battlefields

How do You feel at Your worship?
As You watch fowls target corns
As hawks target the fowls
When eagles have already targeted hawks
Seeing the arrows in gauge for eagles?

I wish to wear an eye
To put on Your ear piece
To stand at Your viewpoint
Just for few seconds
To see the plot of your worldly script
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 18, 2016


I need a Jesus black as coal
One who protects our seas
And grows its trees
Paying land fees for fertility

I need a Jesus who lived through a black maiden
Probably from Krobo
One who had not gone through dipo rites
And was not struck down by an Nzuleizu gods
Or an Akan who had not seen
The light of bragoro
And excelled by breathing live air
In the comfort of his happy father
Who knew he knew him not

I need a Jesus
Who feared no mosquitoes
And lived to battle malaria through herbs
Greeting the palms of the gods who ruled
In challenge to ascertain the most powerful

I need a Jesus who felt torn from soul
Felt the biting of  human hunt
And felt the pinchings of burning egos
As aliens munched native names
Like ridiculously bitter chewing gums
Only to spit them out in trashes for their dog tags

I need a Jesus whose life was stolen
The name of his like in state
As the sword for his tame
One whose eyes saw his robbers
One whose mouth was shut by fear
One whose knees tasted such sands
That his head only faced the sun in tears
Despite his live muscles

I need a Jesus with foamy hair
One who felt the whips of alien deceit
And felt so angered by his natural skin apparel
Watching himself dance to the rhythms of inferiority
To please usurping and unworthy lords

If you find that Jesus
Who lived in black
I will forever watch his back
And always carry his heavy sack
No matter what I may lack
And will all his teachings mark
When he stands, I stand, he parks, I park
For then I will know his shadows will help
In all barks and roars
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016

Photo Credit: Google pics


There is a Pan African anger

Which has created many an avenger

So much they want a changer

With one body, they work like a fate arranger

They curse the foreign endanger

And say their faith is our freedom exchanger

And our old gods imprisoned for their baby in the manger

Who is a complete stranger

And dipped our land in danger

To make us their stooging strangers


They seek out the buried kola

Dig out broken calabashes…

Promising to mend their fabrics

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

Photo Credit:


Please don’t be bored
This chest does many questions hoard
It is just time they show on your board

What do you prefer?
Hymns like tall airs forcing deep roots to tap
And heads of tall grasses to sway?

Or praise songs monster-gangster-like
With clap like Satanic palms

Slapping the cheeks of fresh fallen angels

In revenge for their longer shine?

Or worship songs like potent aphrodisiac
Which creates filthy and yearning goosebumps
Sizes of mountains on disciplinarians
Who deem perverts cancerous to this world of ours?


Or could it be instrumentals?

Ones which force shut even eyes of doubting Thomases

And cage voiced mimes

In the throats of the captivated?


Or could it be songs by solo singers

Whose voices are nasal chorded

Like wind-pipes of huge and tired vehicles

Calling for the attention of their deaf drivers?


Or do you prefer those songs which appear during sermons

When frog-like voices of preachers croak like hell chases

As loud shoutings like angry thunders

Strike through their vocal chords shooting heads with aches? 


Please God

Just tell it to me

The one you do prefer, so I can see

And know thy preference oh Lord!


Because the deaf cannot hear the tunings of his voice

The dumb cannot sing any chorus to you

Those with no hands can never clap during your praises

Neither can those without legs jump up and down in your dance

Are they doomed to disqualification from thy kingdom?


Where do you live?

In hearts or in churches?

In seas or in mountains?

In the heavens or beneath the earth?

You are one mythical shadow

One the lenses of the sun fail to capture

What is thy trick oh God?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

(Photo Credit: Google pics)



Offerings scream as they

Walk on heels noisily to

Pockets of pastors


Paupers’ pride in Christ

Is paused for glitters on beings

Who are known vessels


Bibles have no defence

As fire can flame all its clones.

Christianity cries


Give! Give! Prophets shout

Receive! Receive as you give!

Offerings are back-doored


If Jesus saw the

Paupers’ plight, as a human

He would have collapsed


Preachings of fashion

Shoes and clothes shouting amens

Clap loud for yourselves

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



Let them answer me

Let them make me see

Let my thoughts side with thee

By letting the words the Bible harbour that

“We were made in the image of God”

Clearer in my thoughts daft shade


Can the pious God

Who is known as a sage

And speaks in parables

Mean we are alike in deeds?

Bloodthirsty animals

Whose back biting hobbies

Kill souls faster than bodies

In a world of brutality

Where the strongest bully survives?


All that is good of humanity

Can half the water calabash

Whose full content can do nothing

To satisfy the working farmer on a cold day

All that is wrong of humanity

Cannot fit the earth; our habitation,

Not even if it’s multiplied by a million

What is this image that God supposedly possess?


Could some Bible contributors

Be drunkards whose words

Were conjured from the high realms

Of ram?

Images of pain

Images of greed

Images of selfishness

Images of dissatisfaction

Images of deceit

Images of murder

And listings which have no space

Let the bad images

At least flee from sanctuaries

So thoughts can be bias and say

We are the images of God’s chosen

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



Christmas is palpable

Intents are horrible

Many will use no Bible

They are waiting to kiss

Under a mistletoe for bliss

And will take no one’s diss


Gone are the days

When many stood at bays

To think of a blessed baby in tangled hays

Now there is the sexy dancing

Now there is the much drinking

Now, there are no candling


If Jesus watches these beings

I’m sure He’s questioning our beings

And is cursing His seeings

None to the poor fends

Each dressing to his ends

Needs are never given any bends


Now who cares about where the sheep sleep?

At the mention of the sheep

Many mouths open for tender meat in mouths deep

Hays are for the farm

And farmers who need to harm

The sheep to poverty overcome


A celebration of blessing

A celebration of giving

A celebration of loving

Has turned into an eyesore

Trending without even a law

Making indifferencers bore

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014




Why did Christ need a place

In a woman to appear

And not that of a man?


Why was there no female among His disciples

When He passed through

The gates of femininity?


What at all did He do

For women

Aside tearing the veil of division?


I’m sure he saw women being beaten

He saved one from being stoned

Could He not have warned men to desist from human enslavement?


Was Jesus a mannist?

The Catholics rightly prays through a woman

Could that be their pacification for women?


Why do bastards suffer

When the paternity of Jesus is questionable?

My bad! Let me stop these questions


Blaspheme is not my aim

Disrespect is not my game

I am just curious, if that is the right name

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


“Lord kill my enemies”

They forget they’re also children of God


“Lord open success doors”

Sometimes they do forget it goes hand in hand with hard work


“Lord close every eye to my folly”

They forget “a man reaps what he sows”


“Lord why me?”

Who should it be if it shouldn’t be you?

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.

Note: This is not to ridicule Christians. It is to wake Christians who take quotations from the Bible at face value. If you realise that the person you’re praying against is a child of God, you might change your prayer line to changing rather than killing.


I have seen the face of God

Pouring nothing from a gourd

I have seen it

You have seen it

They have seen it.

For happiness He employs the sun

For meditation and approachability, He employs the moon and stars so we will not from Him run

For anger, He employs darkness and the storm

For sadness, He employs the rain

We love so much to see Him suffer that we enjoy in his pain

He gets us so well that He uses what we like to sometimes pull our ears,

Bringing us to the right path.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.



They say He was a man

They say he died for me

They say He made me free

By buying my sins.

They say He gave me new breath

They say He is there at all times

They parade His pitiable self, to win my sympathy

They say the the gods my ancestors worshipped are lesser gods

But the one who was sent is not a lesser god

He, they say, is a messenger of his father

Whatever it is, if it is true, I’d follow

But can I get the evidence please?



For the past few years, I’ve been negatively blown away by happenings and justified comments surrounding these religions: Christianity and Islam. When I was young, I was taught to emulate those who attended church services regularly and did ‘good’. Although I did not understand much, I understood that the church was supposed to instill or inculcate good morals in human beings. I thought the church was a place of comfort, discipline and love. I did not quite know about the teachings of Islam but I respected them for their loyalty towards their Holy Book; the Quran.

I do not know how I came to be what I am today; a no church goer and a sympathizer of Christianity, because I pray day and night even without intending to. I remember being a very bright Sunday school regular who recited memory verses, participated in Bible quizzes and sang like my life depended on it. At a point, I was so prayerful that, some elders came to be prayed for by me. So I ask myself today; what happened between the church and I? Why do I live my life like a slippery fish that the fishermen (Pastors and preachers) aim to catch?

There are behaviours of leaders of these religions, meaningful arguments and experiences that have contributed into my present state of mind.

Let us start with experiences. My first phase of losing interest in church going was when I spoke to God through Jesus to make me live a problem free life to no avail. Then, the Church preached Sunday after Sunday that once you go on your knees and ask God for anything, no matter how unreasonable it seems it would be given. They had quotations to back their claim and my belief waned year after year with disappointment. I grew impatient because no matter what blessings I received, I felt I needed or deserved more. So I grumbled but still attended church. The baggage that increased the load of the camel was the dressing competition that took place Sunday after Sunday at the church grounds. I was a tom boy and did not know how to dress up in girls’ clothing and even if I could learn, no one had that time and money to shop for me.  What broke the camel’s back was when, one day, during an appeal for funds, the one appealing for the funds mentioned some huge amount of money and asked that we thought of our God and sacrificed at the detriment of our tummies as the Lord himself would feed us afterwards. I was sixteen, though a hard worker, I didn’t expect the woman to mention my name in front of the over eighty congregation. I do not know how I got out of the church premise but I sure knew I was not going back to the church. 

Now let us turn our attention to the comments and behaviours of Pastors/ Priests/ Preachers/ Malams. I was appalled when a Pastor in an interview insulted a fellow pastor that : “Ne maame twԑ” which translates “His mother’s vagina”. Even typing these words is a bit difficult for me, but a pastor was able to tell another pastor that on live radio. He went on to curse anyone who spoke evil about him. In fact, I said nothing about it for a long time although I am mostly a vocal person, but it stayed deep in the corners of my heart. That is not all. we hear many atrocious deeds by men of God. Those things walk into our houses day and night through our televisions and radio programmes so frequently that you cannot help but wonder if there are really some good churches out there. What don’t they do? From sleeping with married women to killing people for rituals to convincing people to give their entire fortunes to them for their selfish needs etc…

Let us move on to the meaningful arguments by some people. Apparently there is an argument that hell, which is supposed to be the room of fire for sinners is a farce, a make belief, something that is not in existence and can never be in existence. According to that school of thought, hell was made to deter people from committing crimes. When you think about it carefully, Scientists have been able to partially refute the Biblical assertion that Jesus walked on water by saying he may have walked on ice. (You and I were not there, so we just have to entertain all opinions about the issue). They have refuted that the sea paved way for Moses and the Israelites because apparently every once in a long time, the seas can divide that way for some time. But the many little proofs that are springing up show that there could be some truth to what that school of thought is pointing to.


Though all these are staring me in the face, I pray probably because my subconscious wants to have something to lean on to in trials and tribulations. Maybe I need something or an imaginary someone to rely on. A friend of mine told me that she would rather be disappointed worshipping God than regret after death if it happens to be true that there is hell.

I guess humans created religion for comfort and discipline (Jesus came in the form of a human being and Prophet Mohammed was clearly a human being) so they can still break the myths about it and leave the world in chaos for our generations to come.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.