You say I’m selling
But you are yelling
Calling for customers sleeping and traveling
In a badness of madness in searching my shaming
When I’ve never signed any contract of marketing
…with you
What is your own if I am selling my toklo?

While you light the fires of gossips
And pour your sweats for earth’s sips
I go on insomniac trips
And take all of tiredness’ whips
…day, night, dawn
Though my bedroom is not your market
You still bark like a desperate atufoɔ boɔ marketer
To sell me in disgust to the world
What is your own if I am selling my toklo?

I thank my stars if I’ve a hot spot
…ready to be bought
…by a lot
To raise me from poverty to wealth
Since I’m your work
Keep being my guard
I’ll occasionally throw you some words
When I pause selling my toklo to rest

I’ve nothing to fear even if I’m selling my toklo
Is it society’s path to their potable river?
Is it the society’s ceremonial mouth?
Is it your not-to-be-tainted fetish shrine?
Or you consider it your golden farm?
It is my toklo
…on my body’s kro

I pity the pious who stop creating paths
…from their toklo to ahenman mu
To blabber about those who use theirs
…for earthly purposes
How sad will it be
…when your God calls and your pious path
…is a desert of thorns?
Continue selling my toklo on your time’s market

We all thread on roads of our choices
After following our inner voices
So you continue to make up noises
Expecting gracious invoices
…for my pay
Ha! My toklo will at least pay me

Time is a cruel boss to mankind
There is no word like kindness
…in its wicked dictionary
So continue selling my toklo in your freshness
But don’t bemoan a loss
If you wake to the arrest of wrinkles
Having used all your time to help sell my toklo
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 3, 2019


Wait and check!
Is she in yet?
She might be
…with her grains of gossips
…on her public pan
Pleading patronizers perfect or porting
…fiki, fiki, fiki, fiki

Wait and survey!
Is he in yet?
He must be
…with his Nsawam Road mouth
…and Tema Motorway tongue
…where no vehicular news escapes passage
…before reaching destinations
…beyond his Accra sphere
…safely or otherwise
… Hwirim hwirim hwrim hwirim!

Their talents are so amazing!
How they grow their digital eyes to see beyond all
…painting scenes to be beyond perfect,
How they expand their eardrums
…from the normal to that of elephants
…hearing breaths of falling pins,
How they discipline their toes
…to soundlessly carry their bodies
…in Inspector Bediako skills
Beat me all the time!

They sure endure impure and pure
…they sure need cure in law and lure
They sure conjure
…the there, unthere and dead
They sure can build
…other skins to fit
They definitely are rumournisters
…no rumour runway knows not their touches
They sure endure impure and pure

Check your grounds
…before opening the doors of your mouth
You know the human Bluetooths
…always on in work
Scan your near to clear the hear fear
The Zenders don’t care about your privates
…much less your publics
Those human tetɛphones
…are spirits in myths
…moving through unsent human veins
They sure are
…ghosts who exist within our midst
And you so know it
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © June 10, 2019


All in slumber
By the crow of cocks
Wake and line by your street
Especially those with itchy ears
Busy mouths
And gossip eyes
Abena Gyantra
I will be seen passing

After working my pants into tatters
Messing my hair into dreads
And working my waist into a cripple
That should add to your fun
Why is that a sin?
If all eyes see
Ears hear
Mouths blabber
Are my busy thighs
And lovely waist at work
I should hail and regard my strength
And explore my horizons
‘Gyantra’ you say?

Like an insomniac
I wake at night
Working like a bat
Seen like an owl
By eyes in close watch
And when day opens its curtains
I am like the dog of life
Roaming the bushes
For what little I can find
For my mouthy masters
Who in pleasant mood
Throw me some bones
No wrinkles are noted
No pain is seen
All that show are the little glitters
Caught by the eyes of the sun
And reflected to you
But what?
I am in ‘gyantra’ business?
How cool can that be?

If the vagina of my mind
Mates the penises of thinking
After engaging in romantic ideas
Tasting deep penetrations of failure
And howling in tears
As eyes of walls close to my tears
And conceive some successes
While you snore
After doing your literals at night
And studying my results and hypothesis
How should that be my sin?

Let your imaginations run
Like rabid dogs in chase
Creating for me customers of the night
I will gladly accept your minds’ gifts
As you derive pleasure
In my make-believe pornography
My only plea
Is you upgrade their class
And make sure I raise many a glass
And much wealth amass
Of course, for all my crimes
I will need a pass

I will take the ‘gyantra’ tag
At least it makes me a rag
Carried in fancied bags
I will take the ‘gyantra’ tag
And give it my understanding tag
‘Jumping across the fire’
Burnt or alive
I know some polishings will go on
With them, some smiles
A win win
You and your wild thoughts
I and my cool results
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 5, 2016


When you see guinea fowls whispering
Hiding the pitchy voices they use in irritation
Know they are cooking an abominable meal
Using the absence of an unsuspecting
As their ingredients
To throw at them indirectly
Through the most cruel of ways
After all animals in the kingdom
Have tasted its bitterness

When you see
dogs snooping
Like famished cocaine addicts scenting their dope
Know there are legs they seek to please
By doing all they can
To present something of delight
To be patted on their heads
To feel wanted for a brief while

When you see parrots
In cages on trees
Cranning their necks in stretch
Like giraffes
Know they seek something worthy to report
Hoping to be free from impossible imprisonment

None of these munafikis get their crowns forever
Like Frankenstein Monsters
They end up hanged by their own handiworks
Their achievements being their concoctions
Of ill words to cook the innocent
So by all means leave them be
Leave them to cook their ills
Until they end up fried
In their own cooking pots
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016



This world is filled with cats and dogs
Cats with sniff-talents oh so strong
Dogs with pitchy-voices oh so loud
There’s no trace of worry
They deem so sorry
So it’s meow and “aoooooo wo wo wow”

Lucky are those with the many cats
And sorry are those with the many dogs
For their lives walk naked
With shameful shaved parts
On the ready hot street
With carnivorous eyes
Which can’t walk away
Without tasting some
So a cheap whore on the street
Their stories become

Poor poor world
Oh sad sad world
A world where sorrows turn palmwine in calabashes
As intense pain turn disco songs for happy feet
Oh drink and dance
Ye happy blind
Until you see yourselves dancing
In little calabashes
Or flowing in sound
As others dance to your sorry tunes
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


Their eyes can’t see
Without developing legs
To rush to their tongues
To make so much noise
To open the gates of their mouths
To bless or curse other ears
Munafiki, shame on you!

Like drums destroyed
News trickle through their ears
And flow loudest through their mouths
Like they hoard megaphones in their throats
Shouting north, south, east and west
Wearing crowns of fake journalism
Munafiki, shame on you!

They snoop like dogs
When news seem locked
They are like wall geckos
Communicating with all seeing walls
And premiering news on unknown grounds
Why at all were they created with tongues?
Munafikis! Shame!! Shame on you!!!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Banned by a Beatrice

Burning bear’s bread

Bertha became a bystander

Being booed by Beatrice

In broad bay-light


Being the best,

Bertha breathed and bowed

When Beatrice bought the shame

Of belittling, after seeing Bertha

Oh shying shame!


Best be better

At being no bore

When your bones get bitter

At boring beasts baits

Even jealousy must have a limit

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



There is quietude in the midst of the noise

There is noise in the midst of quietude

There are humans amidst the inhumans

There are inhumans amidst the humans

No, there are the inhumans lurking in every human

Yours may spark with the light of materialism

His may spark in the light of the centre of women

Hers may spark with the quest for fame

Mine might spark with the quest to curb loneliness

Everyone has a spark of inhumanness stacked somewhere

A ball bounces back to its owner when it’s thrown to hit a wall

So wag the tongue in its enclave

If you know you will lock yours forever

One good turn deserves another, so does a bad turn

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


I am standing on coal

Mmmmm, on coal,

So I cannot walk,

Cannot walk properly


“Bue! Santa Maria!

Agya gyinagyina,

Gyina, gyina bↄkↄↄ”


I am a quaffer,

A quaffer of apio

So I cannot think,

Cannot think properly


“Bue! Santa Maria!

Agya gyinagyina,

Gyina, gyina bↄkↄↄ”


But you too are a drunk

A drunk of stealing

You steal souls,

Souls of beings


“Bue! Santa Maria!

Agya gyinagyina,

Gyina, gyina bↄkↄↄ”


You too are a drunk,

A drunk of power,

You cheat the innocent,

And dare the knowledgeable


“Bue! Santa Maria!

Agya gyinagyina,

Gyina, gyina bↄkↄↄ”


What about you?

You too drink,

You drink from the cup of gossips

And pluck hearts, hearts from their enclaves


“Bue! Santa Maria!

Agya gyinagyina,

Gyina, gyina bↄkↄↄ”


Exclamations from the audience:

     “Ohooo Agya!

      Agya it is okay!”


Leave me to say it all!


What about you?

You are a drunk,

A drunk of ladies,

You break hymens and shatter hearts


“Bue! Santa Maria!

Agya gyinagyina,

Gyina, gyina bↄkↄↄ”



Look at that one in the corner,

You too are a drunk, a hypocritical drunk

You, like a human and like an animal pamper mouths,

Mouths to tell it all, then shuts their eyes in dungeons of darkness


“Bue! Santa Maria!

Agya gyinagyina,

Gyina, gyina bↄkↄↄ”


Look at her too, you’re also a drunk

A drunk of corruption

You smile like the lotus flower or is it the flower lotas?

And spoil the air like poisonous fumes


“Bue! Santa Maria! I nearly fell,

Agya gyinagyina,

Gyina, gyina bↄkↄↄ”


So don’t look at me like a duck

Each character has its animal counterpart

I may be an alcohol duck

But you are a billy goat, an ostrich, a monkey, a pig, or whatever, you know what you are


“Bue! Santa Maria!

Agya gyinagyina,

Gyina, gyina bↄkↄↄ”


So let my name rest

and put your name there

Edit my situation and put yours there

I am a village drunk, drunk even without a drink, I know, so say yours?

     Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.


NOTE: The chorus means: “Exclamations of falling

                                               Agya stand,

                                            Stand, stand  gently.






They will look

They will keenly look

As some stalk

When we take a walk

And they will talk

But let us write our own story


They will taunt

They will jealously taunt

As we embrace in love

When we, the bad omens, look above

And stay in love

So let us write our own story


They will come in

They will surely come in between

When all else fail

As they need to their gossip bail

And have many say they got the story nailed

But let’s make our own ending


It is our story

And must be our worry

How we choose to write it

Must you and I fit

Even when we in uncomfortability sit

Because it is ours and we must write the ending to fit us.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.