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

​HELPERS LIKE EVE

Those days
When light only came from the sun rays

As fruits fed from their ripe stations

Have no living nations

II

Those days

When charms and pushing gays

With domestic care so rare

Were all a woman needed to be fair

Have gone under

As today, more need surrender


III

Eve was a blessing

Who hated her no dressing

We are interesting 

Even in our no resting

Our morn calls for care duties

Then the hunt to help

Noon calls for roaming 

Then the pain of thoughts

Evening calls for supper 

And preparations for a near future

Of course night has its unseen duties

Of marathons of turnings and pantings


IV

We are now like Frankenstein 

We have created a monster of freedom

Which has taken over our little rest

Making us workaholics with no visible acknowledgement

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c)  June 19, 2017.

I BE BUSH WOMAN?

Dem say sukuu be all
Woman no be kitchen maid
Woman be queen wey need worship
I see say I be stupid for dis world

II
I get respect
I cook for my big man to chop
He no tink say I go poison am
Im dey trust im life for my hands
If dat no be respect
Wey tin be respect?

III
I know some tink say I be bush woman
No be bush all medicines dey?
No be bush person turn cities?
No be bush all animals dey hide?
I know say bush be life ankasa ankasa

IV
How city queens dey live?
Demma finger nails be like animal claws
Some say dem dey use glue to stick dem
Wetin person fit do with animal claws?
I see why dem hate cooking so

V
I no understand why dem wear shoes
Wey im back be like sharp bones
Dem say hill dem be
If person climb demma hill and walk in demma hill
How she fit tink like person
When im mind be pain pain pain?

VI
Wetin kill me be dem removing skin
Saying dem dey turn abrofo
Wey fashion be peeling skin like snakes?
Abena, I see all
Dem mouth, different different paint every day
Dem dress, small small rags
Catching buttocks, holding breasts
Dem too go fit born babies to grow?
Wey cloth dem go use strap babies for dem back?

VII
I know say I be bush woman
My private things be private
I no see shame for der
I know say I be bush woman
But I wear slippers and feel no pain
I know say I be bush woman
I no challenge men when dem no want challenge me for my kitchen
I be bush woman
I be bush woman
I be bush woman but I no be counterfeit
Looking like fake paint for morning
And ugly old woman for night
All dat ponce dey destroy skin
Tweakai!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) Dec. 15, 2016

KNOT ON OUR NOTS

Most cocks walk comb high
As hens dig for worms
When they spot a hawk
And crow for cover
Their wings become gods of shelter
Ordering for variety hens in roosting
Why?
Why can’t cocks lay few eggs?

II
Why can’t cocks lay few eggs
And sit hungry to heat to hatch?
Why can’t cocks hatch their chicks
And have whining followings
In worry and work?
Why can’t cocks be the chased
And have the job of running for chastity?
Why can’t cocks?
Why cant cocks?
Why can’t cocks wail to notify the world
Of all matches played and scored
Into anal bursting eggs?
It isn’t fair
How easily, they, in freedom fly
Oh what a knot on our many nots!!!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016

WHEN A QUEEN FLEES

When a queen flees
It is not for lack of wealth
Her stool might be a hell of fire
Though it digs jealousies in damsels
Her crown might have pinning pins or thorning thorns
Although it hunts greed in ladies
Her robes might house termites
Or soul’s small poxes,
Even though it looks devine in refinement,
Killing her soul ten times a second
Her bed might have bells like noise of guinea fowls
Angered by fear
Never mind the dreams and fantasies it spurns
Her heels might house fingers of intruding nails
Aiming always for her veins
Despite throwing beauties in confidence
Her ornaments might shine in the sun
But may be claws in the dark
What chases might be invisible
To bystanders
When a queen flees
She is not to be pitied
As her dragons that chase
Might be fiercer than that
Of fused thousand spirits of poverty
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016

WOMANIC HELL (CRAZY STANZAS)

It is difficult for a cat
To look at garnished meat
Without a reaction from its throat and tongue
I guess

II
It will be difficult
For a fowl to live with edible grains
Without pecking
Very difficult I guess
I thought humans differ with minds

III
Under the warm sun
And in the presence of the cool breezes
I stood like a television
All eyes glued on
My mouth felt all eyes
As it moved
Eyes who directed their mouths to part in ease
Hoping mine gets the invitation
I see theirs as they are
They see mine as cats see meat
And fowls see grains

IV
If a nun differs in apparel
The difference will be her veil
But even in the centre of all those clothes
Ravishing eyes told me I stood naked
Like the day I was born
With teasing growth
They couldn’t let go
Why?

V
My steps
They said
Were provocative
Calling their bluffs
Insulting their potency
My figure
Serving as an aphrodisiac forced
Down their throats
Through the light of their eyes
Why?

VI
I can ask a million whys
Looking for a difference between programmed animals
And those created beings
But nothing pops up
My ink can bleed my doubt
Doubts that my mouth fears to utter
Again I ask why?
In the world of sticks
Reasoning lies dead in pleasure
I guess
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016

THE SHE IN ME (CRAZY STANZAS)

The she in me
Is like a traveling soul
Stuck in a robbed hut
Needing hands to help her transport
Into a he frame
A he frame that can visit the gods

II
Who can blame her?
She too craves for a voice for choice
To exorcise loneliness
She too craves for the chance
To meet the sun
To get her own shadow
She too craves for a say
To jerk ears into attention
She too craves for more
Tongues know no she
Palmnut soup everyday
Can suffocate even its pots
She too craves
Craves to ride

III
The she in me
Needs to run and win
With no chest load causing a spin
Needs to swim after a dip
With no hidden snakes
Giving a chase
She too craves to sit
After a dig at a pit
With crossed legs
Hoping to turn shrine from evening to dawn
She too feels her blood boil
At all that heats
This she in me

IV
She is no pole a warrior stole
Neither is she a ball to roll
She is no mat to be stepped on
Nor a chamber pot to receive debris
The she in me weeps
Thinking its maker sleeps
This she…
Hmmmmm
Is it fit to be trapped?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016

Phot Credit: www.pinterest.com

TRAINED LIKE DOGS

My mother’s mother’s mothers
Were like dogs
Trained to serve even on stepped nerves
Tamed to submit even when pain emit
Taught to shadow
Even in the brightest light
Ordained to please no matter their horrid tease
What can I do to  their souls appease?

II
Like dogs
Some got good owners
And lived well like prized possessions
Fed well
Only after serving like ones without souls
Respect out of their living dictionaries

III
Some lived moderately
Running errands
Taking their beatings and bootings
Watching their young chained and sold
Like fowls on important holidays
And still thanked their owners on three legs
One of which walked over them at night
To be their pots as they procreation rained

III
Others had it hard
Hunting in servitude
Feeding in slavery
And still receiving none of theirs
Except dirty crumbs
To lie in filthy slums
And still deprived sleep
At night
How wronged they might have felt

IV
Still some lived in the wild
Ostracised by masters
Called dirty creatures
Tormented into fake witchcraft
Which were worn them by minds of egos
Because they chose to live unbounded
Funny how some cling
Onto the norm of torments
Just to feel big in their shrunken egoes
Good thing wings are now bought
With currencies of hardwork
No matter the the gender features
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016

PAINFUL LAUGHTER

COCK

Cocks always smell something foul

In the cloth of a hen

When success crowns her head

As she sits in their midst

And their combs feel numb at the ego hit

II

Loudly crowing cocks then turn

At the slightest chance

Using their wings to sweep the ground

Beckoning her to turn her back

To play with them or hatch their chicks

III

And if the hen decides to jump

And their chase fails to trap

Then they cook a meal of crap

For all ears which hunger for scraps

Then all cocks mark her maps

And get many rude words to give her raps

Which strap her way without a gap

Until her strength begins to break

Or she learns from an eagle to fly 

To break their records

And leave them dry

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016

UNSCARING (Crazy Stanzas)

I need a huge favour
A favour to savour
To savour forever
From the mountains with all the voices
Where my half hanged
Until it met the egg of my host

II
It is a coast I have come to love
But a ghost which is so towering above
I need the favour of release
Release of my wings
Without bruised hearts
Stroking bruised minds
As bruised minds push bruised egos
To shut me down
As a cancerous witch worth eliminating
Or like a deadly plague
Worth blood to uproot

III
Now my favour to savour
Can I be left to fly
Deep into the sky
And have shoulders who will not cry
But host my touch down
Without thinking me thief of their crown?

V
Can I be left to sail
Hit,  learn, hurt and kill my wail
By having hands to heal my pale
And have words walk out of a gentle mouth
To head me to an enlightened south?

V
Oh a favour I need
One which will grow my seed
And eliminate thoughts to concede
When life steps on my searching tail

VI
May I get this favour to savour?
One which will not transform my image into a hungry lioness-like stance
And cause fright for all to jump heights
No matter how deadly?

VII
If only xylophones of strength
Will stop mating ears of power
And fingers of egos will stop stroking needs of submission
Then I could have my favour to savour
And cause no quiver which needs deliverance
Oh sweet pain of pinky dreams
Shut down by haunting blues of hues!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

THAT I AM A FEMINIST

That I am a feminist

Does not make me a lioness

Asking for fairness with mouth

Holds no threats of witchcraft

Neither does it hold bullets for crucifixion

Let alone bombs for company extinction 

II

I know there are the kinds who want war

And house machetes, arrows and spears

Bullets and bombs of words 

To pursue their targets like terrorists

But in the end, they are just toothless dogs

Toothless dogs barking too loud blocking the audibility of their owners

And help the criminals get away

III

None cries in the rain to seek sympathy from the heavens

I know the right path to fairness

Fighting with fairness

Martin Luther King Jnr. and his followers’ bodies were toys

But their deeds of zero aggression made most of their haters their boys

Kwame Nkrumah’s body held no gun

But his voice and reasoning won for Ghana independence

Nelson Mandela’s body had to suffer

But his patience and silent arguments made him an icon forever

Who am I?

Just a feminist who fears to be a door mat

And can’t stand my others being stepped on

Even a goat winces when whipped

IV

I am also a manist

Am I not?

Will I ever stand to see my father pounded like a foodless mortar?

Will I ever stand to see my brother being beaten like a drum?

Will I do to my husband what I dread?

Can I ever stand to watch my son stepped on

Like clean clothes in muddy waters?

Who uses his left hand to point to her father’s house

In a community where the left is known for babysitting the rear

In its naked and disgusting times?

V

Fairness is what I yearn for

Ears are all I need on seats as audience

Reasoning are all I need in heads to turn

Compassion is all I need to cook in hearts to free this world

Of the hurts of the fragile-but -trong life makers

That I am a feminist does not make me a monster

That I am a feminist does not make me an alien

That I am a feminist does not make me a bedbug to be squashed

One person can never fight without all eyes poking their brows

I have no weapons to raid

Bringing in weapons of victimization makes you look odd

Makes me look bad

Makes us look weird 

As the mouth of the earth’s cries go unheeded

I am a feminist

That I am

Not a ruthless terrorist

Gunning for blood to feed pets of vampires

I mean who does that?

I know you know your defensiveness spells your guilt

So please step down

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

(Photo credit: www.dezireefinearts.co.za)

MALE MARKS

image

Cocks have combs
Lions have manes
Beings have beards
Most have marks seen
But all have marks unseen
And almost all need their “weak” counterparts
In order to save themselves from extinction
But their strength breeds cruelty
In the pots they need to eat
None must be silly enough
To bite the hands that do the feeding
No matter how feeble
For sustenance needs continuation
For longevity
So all marked livers must
Learn from the wisedom of reality
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

GIVE IT TO ME; THAT SEX.

I  want to have sex

I want to have sex like my ex

I want to have sex that stands

In order to possess power throughout the lands

I need to have sex as erected as the Kilimanjaro mountain

This will give me power which will help my sanity maintain

This flat earth puts me in awkwardness in many places on this black land

My dignity and self worth have been mixed with the sand

Because of my lack of erected pillar in the middle of this clay

I am at this sick bay

Wishing for the unattainable

As this heart yearns and contains

The wishes of the erected mountains that stand urging to be climbed.

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.