From far and far
…flimsy fleas
…forced fiercely in fences
…flip flaps to fires’ fuss
Forking fins
…filing fears
…facing the future

Baking in breakages
…burning in bossing barns
Burns bellowing in bellies of bodies
…bolden in brights
…beneath their-

Allowing arms to air
…attracting arrows in alms
Atrociously aiming attacks
…in apt adrenalines

Fear the fallen
Believe the broken
Appease the attacked

For they are-
… Beneath
… Ashes
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © June 21, 2019


The clock of change ticks

Transforming in shockaholics 

Yet many feed after thorny pricks

In places whose geography elude mapachronics

Living healthily by the green waters of kontomire

As others blinkardly gobble dead fishes in oily rivers


Gone are the days when elderly buttocks

Filled seats before their young

Gone are the days when older mouths talked

Into younger ears without boxing words 

Wearing fiercer gloves to houses into boxing ring of words

Gone are the days when skins lived in nature 

And returned to their maker without peels

Gone are those days when monies had no hands

In the preparation of peace meals

Gone are those days when chiefs were politics

And politricks hid in darkest places without celebrations

Gone are many things including nightfall

As night light battles that of day


Now one living in “Werewerekodi” struggles 

Without knowing the knots tied on his head

On an international market

One at “Frefrekobo” feels the heat of need

Without knowing his debts incurred for him

By names he will never be able to transcribe in life

Many unfortunate things have bodies

Parading like the ishes 

And becoming many’s wishes


If time could turn back to reverse some things

Setting rules before eye openings

Making hugs physical and not imoginal 

Squaring lives instead of half elevations

Life would have been better

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) June 28, 2017


When a yard is given

Extending to a mile is a given

Then some come in needful farm

Regardless of the harm

When a gate widely opens

Even mosquitoes can turn royals

Dictating to owners when to sleep and what to keep

Of course the malaria virus becomes a necessary tag 

Draw a needle for your poor pest

And it will turn into an axe

Give a knife to your foe

And it will metamorphose into a machete

Make tears quench the thirst of a dying in drought

And he will be sure to drive on your pain 

For your eyes to always rain

We have given more than necessary 

Now we forget the owners we are

In our love to serve

In the end

We are dancing clowns

On a stage set by blood so precious 

Blood of our ancestors 

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) June 24, 2017


What is the difference between much and none?
In the much
How is the rush?
In the none
How is the crash?

Many are the laughters of the much
Like sugar and ants
Many are the odours of the none
Like a dead being rotting in leaves

Eyes in goggles of deceit
Break their glasses to stand naked
In triump of chaos
Not like a secret agent revealed
But like a wicked demon unleashed
The laughter, haunting
The blows, unhealable

Know the eyes for the none
To share in your much
Experience is the worst teacher ever
Its punishments, regrets and hurts
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


Pidgin language rules this land
As ‘danduruwa’ rocks their world
The rough voices of fans
Working like ‘nikanika’
Can be heard from all corners
In kiosks and single rooms
As their curses of blowing heat
Chase their footsteps
While illegal wires cry their heated fates
Some night workers
Whose market flopped have mouths like pigs
Temperaments like annoyed right hand men of Satan
And walk like zombies Begruding their scanty clothes
Which they blame for the failures
While others do all in style
To suck money out of perverts
Hard liquors stay put in rooms of many
Others keep dancing in the little bars
Aided by smokes of all shades
From lungs through noses of ‘highs’
Here everyone is hard
Some who weild guns are jubilating
Their loots panting far from their owners
Others lie on hard lands
Stoned to death
Or locked away
Still struggling ones lie in their heat
Thinking of how to sell their dog chains
Or their ‘waawu’ clothes
Fufu pounders dreaming of being chased
By heavy pestles
Some children in training sleep in their nightmares
As dreamers are being hunted for their laziness
A book is an ill omen
Because it requires much
To generate any
Who has that much?
Torn mats complain of their postponed funerals
Rubbish lavendas cruel scents
Hoping to be burned
Or sent to their final restings
Flies sleep not in this realm
Bothering even the tea seller
Who knows all the secrets of his land
But shuts his mouth to stay safe
Mosquitoes fight outside beings
And battle the insiders
Still, many waists enjoy their nights
Waking those non-existent to join them
Some mashing up their blood
When their ghostly faces show
Here a bed is a luxury
A trotro driver; a rich man
A taxi is heaven
Its driver; a god
Wearing a suit is alien
And an insult on injuries of egos
Any rule stands
So long as it battles no business
It is hard to live
So much that even cocks fear to trespass
Let alone crow to wake
Ei! Don’t their fear for their lives?
Here life is a hard knuckle
Knocking all heads
Striking all living
With no discrimination
The typical Zongo life
Dreamers may struggle to flee
But how many will succeed?
And how many will be alienated
Either voluntarily or under duress?
It is a scary world
Where many suffer loneliness
As space taunts
While congestion is the lot of many more
Who just need to breathe
A very fair world
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


Times have turned upside down
Although their legs race changeth not
How their shovels
Turning minds of beings like reckless farmers tilling land
Has bought dizziness for my visual chords

What do you say of this abomination?
Where gyms take strength meant for lands?
These are hard times
Hard times when plants and trees give their all
But hands fail to replace them
Knowing well they are the breath and bread
Which honour our lives’ continuance
These are hard times

Hard times when religions hold guns and bombs and machetes
Hard times when minds have been eaten by the urge of belongingness
Hard times when temporal beings claim jurisdictions met at birth
Laying their lives for those who love earthly rule
Giving rights to papers to rule beings like puppets
As the very few are tasked to feed zillions
These are hard times

Hard times which demand
The awakening of dead minds
Buried in the caked mud of senselessness
Hard times which demand us to be murderers
Murderers murdering in cold blood
Quest for more in the midst of sluggishness
Murderers hunting and pulling down
The urges to dance and dine
Without giving lands our future to hold and nurture
Crowns sat not on heads of hungry kings
When battles lurked and begged to be conquered
As mouths are found on most beings
And holes are made into defective beings to feed and grow
So must thoughts see the essence of growing land
To grow their greedy selves
How is it fair that we shame some untimely deaths
By modern knowledge and still expect few hands
To feed those we snatched from teeth of death?
These are hard times
Hard times so wake and erect change in reflectivity
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016



Craving crumbs, caning climbs

Serving sterns and stopping soars

Heaping hells, hopping hisses

A lesson leans to be learnt and loved


Chirping churns, crossing curses

Silly slims and swerving stills

Hearing halts, helpers hate

A lively leap loathes a dying move

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016



Mud, although unrespected
Begets lotus which fragrances the world
I call out to you
I call out like a saving bell
To you whose face is in the mud
As your back is made the footmat of supposed worthy legs
Rise, and know mud is the clot which begets beautiful pots
Take my lead and live

Dung, although smelly
Is the fertilizer which feeds foods fat
I call on you known as dung
To turn and feed what is buried to feed
Does any VIP head lacks buttocks?
Are there buttocks which produce gold?
If no eye wishes to see the end of any eaten food
No matter how expensive
Then know you are no different
From crown decorated heads
Do listen
And follow my lead to live

There is none so pampered
By moths beneath
And none with a metallic and chiselled heart
Also none with a skin immuned to age
So I call
I call on you
Yes you who sweats
You who is wet from hurts and pain
You who is a wreck
And your thoughts have fled
To follow my lead and smile
For there is no mouth that feeds from the sky
The earth sponsors us all
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


His road seem short
But his legs tell tales of tiredness
His unkempt hair
Ruling and hiding his handsomeness
Forcing his eyes to wear a mask of the mocked
This tongue had to beckon
After a great mind made him up
Plantain chips in a huge bowl is his burden
Day and night
A burden he needs to be rid of
Before the doors of his tiredsome home give way
To his tired feet
So I asked for his story

A mother cruelly taken by unsympathetic death
Has rendered him a burden
And his tears start to flow
His sorrow started to rain
Through the eyes which were needed for legs to
Ply long routes to hawk
From SSNIT Flats to Sagnerigu
And I can’t help but press his tired lean body to mine
Hoping to heal some broken dreams
His tears clouding the sky
He did no wrong
He has no fault
Ten or eleven or twelve
Life is too dark in the skies he thread
And I see myself lost in his world
And wonder if he will go through the same things as I
Prayers in my heart
Prayers for the pain to pass him by
Prayers, prayers to renew his tired soul
And make his aunt see him as his
For the Orphan Kofi
Is no name to keep in a rubbish heap
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Who is there?

Oh all are here!

I see the things

Which Christmas brings

But my pocket cries out

And my mouth does pout


Who sees it?

Oh all feels it

Many are those 

Who’ll think of overdose

To end the shame

And get a loose name


Who is happy?

Oh the sit-and-eats

Who cares about money

When all they need is honey?

They sit and wait

To eat until late


Who will enjoy?

Oh Pastors with joy

For all will give

And all will leave

God’s coffers sits

Crying to be liberated into their pits


Who will suffer?

Oh all will suffer

From the foot=mat wives

Whose meals delay

To the hungry child

The streets beget


Who will feel the heat?

Oh all without generators

For ECG tightens his belt

Every watt for two dark pelts

Don’t be alarmed,

It is to check deaths


So flow to the village

Drink from the Densu River

Eat from Assase Yaa

Inhale from the noses of green plants

And let the flies lick your buttocks

Who knows, the gods of your land

Might just reveal your heirloom

And save you from this misery

Or worst, make you a stooge master!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



am shivering

thinking of the fowls

many will be slaughtering

forgetting the children hunger will be slaughtering



am crying

thinking about

boxing day of gifts

and the many children pain will be boxing

in a session of reminiscence where giving must reign



am yearning

for hearts which will

open like the lotus flower

to disinfect and embrace the pains

of others in this season of love and happiness




The many drunks,

Pervert swimmers

Chain smokers


Who linger

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



Professor Yaw Darko

Hated Mr. P aul Arko

He claims he copies westerners

While he epitomises Africanness


He wears African colours

And hates all foreign “shudders”

He speaks in African tongue

And so feels among


He fights Mr. Paul Arko

Who is not like he Darko

Because he wears foreign

And drives cars like he is soaring


Ei! Darko gets some money

And gets a car to get some honey

Before any African style could speak

He has reached his foreign peak


And so his people asks him

Why are you now called Tim?

He thinks aloud

And shouts, money maketh foreign

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



In the silence of sound

I shiver thinking around

Motherless, fatherless

Infants dining with streets

Gaining nothing. Heartless

Vampires preying and feasting

As mosquitoes crave pounds

Of their flesh, bedbugs too feast


Some wombs cry for these,

Yet need those moulded from

Their haemoglobin. What is

The difference between them?

They are:

Fresh breakable minds left unprotected,

They are;

Hungry sorry stomachs left unfed,

They are;

Cold fragile bodies left unclothed

And are;

Homeless lost souls left unsheltered.


A hungry child, will be angry in future

If he rebels, many will fall at his hands

If she rebels, a whole generation would

Get mind viruses without antiviruses


Mama, papa, brothers and sisters

Please open your eyes to arrest the street

Helping rescue at least one of these

Their souls call, from the dungeons of neglect

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014




Light is a rare visitor

Money is a haunter

Hunger is the landowner

And pain is the comfy seat

Of Ghana, my Ghana


A Cedi today,

Ten Cedis tomorrow

A promise today,

A hiding tomorrow

Demonstration in succession

Courts and orders

There’s no Christmas for Ghana

Not for Ghana, my Ghana


Delicious foods

Have fled houses

To play on televisions

To flame hunger

Mouths are talking

But who is listening?

“Yentiee obiaa”

Lumba has sealed it

Who thinks of Christmas?

When the stomach rumbles?

No Christmas for Ghana, not for my Ghana


Poor young souls

Think of nice clothes,

Think of sweet candies,

Think of nice meals,

Poor young ones

Hardly do they know

There’s no Christmas for Ghana

Not for Ghana, my Ghana



No Christmas for Ghana

Inflation of passions!

No Christmas for Ghana

Oh mixed reactions!

No Christmas for Ghana

Pockets with no actions!

No Christmas for Ghana

We’ve reached unfair sanctions!

And the real pure Ghana of the Rurals weep

Too bad, they weep for the Ghana few are keeping

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


Hardly a day goes by

That abysmal suffering fails to make beings sigh

But you work and work

Uniting families

And fixing cracks in the lives of children

And those who need it most

A smile is your payment

Laughter is your per diem

A hug is your motivation

But God above sees it all

And knows your reward

More strength, I send your way

More blessings to make your enemies decay

More lives to make death delay

For your likes’ hearts are worthier than pure gold

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014

My heartfelt gratitude goes to all people who go on mission to help the poor and needy, especially in Africa. May God richly bless you!




A loan for your blood


Unbuyable yet sold

Money beats blood


Food for your sanity


Abstract yet sold

Hunger beats thoughts


Love for your peace


Precious yet sold

Loneliness beats peace


We know not what we want

We sit and think

We think and regret

We regret too late

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014




Lightnings strike and bright

Thunders of  stomachs rumble

Drought mouths fight the breeze

As their eyes rain cats and dogs

Hunger gnaws at their in-beings


Weakness is their king

A look; all it takes to know

But none seems to see

Those who see, follow strict rules

Hunger must bite lazy hands


Can’t rules be bended

Where tiny hands are concerned?

Lord God have mercy!

Can’t collateral be age?

Some chests surely have no hearts


Man-made machines drive

Their cause and numbs their feeling

Mercy! Mercy! Please work hard

Work hard to arrest these hearts

And let these life virgins be

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014



stew simmering

Simmering stew stands smiling

Sending sweet scents

Scents sent as swords to silence stomachs

Stomachs scattered by scanty scoops of cereals

Scudding surreptitiously in outstanding signals

Sealing sadness like sexy serpents to unsuspecting stomachs

Stomachs seriously searching for strength to save

Searching seriously for a savior who comes with scents

Silly scoundrel! You simmering stew!

Sending signals which shatters the sane

While sitting soft spoken in a shaded sealed shade

Like a shiny diamond in the dark

Save the suffering!

Stop your scents!

Taunt not the haunted

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


eye of the lord orphanage

A sponge for many bodies

A room for countless beings

Tea without milk

Fetched with fingers like soup

None waits for the train moves

And the latecomer is left hungry

No toothbrushes because none can afford

They are the children of the present

Unfortunate to have been left by their mothers

Unfortunate to have been thrown away

Unfortunate to have their mothers answer their calls of fate

Their classes are smoke’s den

Their classrooms, sand’s territory

Their pomade happens to be shea

Which sits in a cup

See them sleep with no age measure

As young ones pee on the old

Who but God keeps their hearts?

Sad how they smile through it all

As watchers cry tears of blood

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014

(Wrote this after watching the children of the Eye of the Lord Orphanage and how they lived. This piece was written amidst tears. I could not share it then, but I’m sharing it now. Let all who can help get in touch with Utv and help)



Think of me

Me who sleeps

Sleeps in filth

Filth which reeks pain

Pain which kills

Kills innocent souls

Souls which help

Help in shaping this world

World of chaos

Chaos which makes way

Way for more suffering

Suffering of sadness

Sadness which kills

Kills the soul

Soul which leads

Leads to the spirit

Spirit of the ancestors

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


hunger in Africa

Will the poor be saved?

No! No! No! And No!

They will never be saved

No matter their struggles

Most will fall at the hands of poverty

Because they are businesses

Businesses of some unscrupulous dudes

Who profit at their sufferings

And revel in their misery

The dirtier the better

The more pathetic, the richer they become

Children try to chase hunger in their stomachs

And fail miserably

While sweats for their keep are boiled and drunk by the satisfied

O ye helpers of the destitute from afar!

Please hear my pathetic pleas

See, touch and heal the poor

Never throw your sweats on dirty foams

A word to the wise…

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


street people


Her birth blood from the gutters scream

For her to all the filth redeem

Her blood can’t stand likes with her dream

And can no longer stand their scream


She can’t be called rich as such

In her wardrobe designer is much

All her looks have a Midas touch

And authenticity dwells in her watch


Her face shows disgust for gutters

Gutters which shielded with litters

All things culminating haters;

Her haters: her needful rapers


What did the gutters do so wrong?

Making hatred for them so strong?

She looks like she doesn’t belong

To the sad gutters. And among

The things she wants to be known

The filth of the past can’t a place own


Her birth blood cries in the bones

Of the gutters, because of the neglect of her own

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



The rude visitations of the rains

Touch my sanes

What becomes of

Those with unsheltered homes?


What happens to

Those with no mother’s arms?


Who tends to

Those with no towels of comfort,


Who feeds

Those who live from hand to mouth?


I weep watching their plight in my mind

Cooped in corners,

Hugging own legs,

Rain gutting the land on their skins as they shiver

With hunger gunning their stomachs


Do the eyes of the street see them?

Do the ears of the world hear them?

Can the mouth of the earth speak for them?

The nose of the slums sniff them, that I know

And knowing is like a thousand knives

Piercing my mind

Because I was part of their kingdom

Before the hands of years stretched

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014





As the many land

With golden spoons

And the many land

With silver spoons

With others landing

With a bronze spoon

How can you sit there watching

While I land with no spoon?


As the many reject

The many clothes in boos

And the many reject

The many shoes

With the many loving

Their precious shoes

How can I be left with nothing

While I came with them in the same cues?


If the land is left with nothing

At least the ant wipes its hands

To pacify the lands

Why do I have nothing

For the one who did my carrying

As she watches my empty hands

As they came to the lands

Remain same as she leaves for eternal touring?


Scrub and I scrub

Clean and I clean

Dig and I dig

Like a pig and its dirt

I live in work

Why am I left with nothing?


God I ask you why?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



Sauntering in gutters

Abysmal whiffs walk proudly and shatters

Noses, avoiding hoses, holds hands

With flies which feast happily on caked defecations

As the mosquitoes sing happy melodies on me


A toad takes advantage of darkness and winds

The throats of others to make them bullhorns to fit the situations

Situations of the lantern flies, of sleeping infants and I

But I dawdle in its peace, seeing as they are better

Than the brightness of many hypocritical teeth


A roar walks on its hind legs

Its voice being the benevolent warner.

Still sauntering, no rush

What is there to see?

The pain of my broken bones in cannibalistic mouths?


That’ll be for a few minutes

Then peace will talk

Of my non-existence

There will be no appetisers of fear and taunts

Neither will there be pepper to garnish my eyes


Sauntering with mind musings

A bit amusing, the injections of these insects

Funny, the peace with which the infants sleep

Without the knowledge of the theft of the mosquitoes

Streetism stench and pride deserves a boasting.

     Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



I take a stance

And look from a distance


Chickens like famished children

Wailing in anger

Hens like desperate mothers

Crying in anguish

Cocks like men with bruised egos

Sitting with capped jaws

As the Hawk sits comfortably on his throne


He, the hawk comes down

And takes what he needs to fill his belly

Then climbs up to watch the desperate circus

Any beak which chirps in defiance,

Is made an evening meal

So none thinks to squeal

Fingers on beaks


Funny, the eagle watches

Waiting to devour the hawk and take over

But aims to do it tactfully

So as to get a non scattered empire

There are other animals too aiming

but none has a shot

Because the fowls have made it so.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


Akua cries at the ward

“Oh Lord!

What sins did my ancestor hoard

To accumulate problems warranting 

A sword into my akosuakuma?”


In a coma is the birther

Who feels not the whether

But has caused so much bother

becoming her ward’s righteous toner

A toner with a sword for her akosuakuma


By her stillness

A hymen has died in filthiness,

Causing a vacuum of unwholesomeness

Causing tears of silliness

And her dignity thrashing her akosuakuma


Akua is a tiger overtaken by a cat

In a hurtful moment she sat

The cat took her heart

And left her bloated and fat

With a paper pushed through her akosuakuma


The lecturer tried and failed

And had her failed

She made him tailed-

In legs, her sweetness bailed

Him out as she kept her akosuakuma


It’s all about the akosuakuma

Akosua stands, but eyes are on Kuma

Always on Kuma, how the lecturer laughed in her akusuakuma.

Now Kuma is gone, In the name of one who gave hers for her

Unfortunate how lousy it is, and how she still sleeps in stillness.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014









Nsu kↄkↄↄ retↄ ama abibiman asaase rebobↄ


Yenim nia yenim nso nim ntumi ngyina Ntim Gyakare aniso gye ↄhyἐ


Asantehene fa Sika- Akuma brἐ yἐn

Na fa bi kↄma agya aban.


Yede obuo ne nnidie na ἐbἐba.


Na adἐn?

Obi bἐ bisa,

ἐne diἐ ἐyἐ bↄne a, yἐnka sἐ ἐyἐ kuro

Y’ahunu SADA, GYEEDA ἐne ne DA DA foↄ

Y’ahunu faanwo ntaban a aban de ama

Y’ahunu ἐboↄ kἐseἐ a ↄde ato adwumayἐfoↄ akatuya chↄↄↄku

Mentumi nka akumatesἐm yi nyinaa

Agua yi yἐ yἐn nyinaa ti

Nsa duduↄ pia obaako kↄ tenaa so sἐ ↄhyἐnkafoↄ 

ἐno nkyerἐ sἐ ↄmpae y’apampa mu.

Afei diἐ yἐn mene amemene

Yἐn ani ayἐ apotweapotwee n’enso, yἐn hu hweee

Y’ako ako ako ako ako ako ako

N’enso enkosi aga

Enἐ diἐ Kontonkoronhwi  a nyansa bru wosu

Fa wo Sika -Skuma no frἐ

Na y’ἐnfa yἐn ntↄkwa yi nsi ha

Diἐ yἐpἐ aaa ne sἐ obἐsi afiri akonwa yi so

Efirisἐ amonsene nyἐ ade a, yἐde sikapuduo tↄ

Wↄ mmere a ἐkↄm brane ἐde abrane

ἐyἐ bokↄↄ na y’ἐpἐ

Yede yἐn adiἐ ahyἐ wo nsa

Afei yἐἐgye a, ennyἐ ntↄkwa.

Abrewatia, m’ano asi.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


Inventions, to die for.

Theories, treasures.

Some have no measures

And no sense

Why will one make a god

Of paper which can cause us to 

Kneel in degradation?

A giver for need

A taker only to give

One without needs accumulates

As the needer kneels in shame

As the common paper taunts

When bored people struggle to keep the purse strings

It’s a shame on a shame a million times

Its generator must be caught,

Castrated and crucified in his grave,

Yes, the maker of money.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


Suddenly the street develops a womb

Unlike humans, it delivers a dozen multiplied a million

At a go

All needing food, all needing clothing,

All needing care when money is rare

Suddenly the street with no money makes it her hobby

A hobby to produce without a care of their care

Who is their father?

It could be every man

But every man thinks not on the crowding on the street

Children she begets produce children who beget

While she has no intention of ceasing birth

My opinion;

The womb of the street is a pain to all

The womb of the street, my burden, your burden

The womb of the street needs tending

For the assurance of your meal, safety and national image

And that of mine.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


He looks famished

In tattered clothes

As he holds his dog chains

Waiting to be sales blessed

But, oh, poor lad, I hear “aaba ei!”

And he takes to his heels

The bread seller trips him

In her quest to escape

And the uniformed helped him not to rise

By letting his baton painfully talk to his poor looking skin

Which does not cry because of lack of red water

But screams in pain by showing white marks


What a world we do live in

Abusing jobs have become addictive

That we see no need to have some reasoning

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



From afar,

It is a pile of filth

Until you step in

Then you become part of the filth

So speak not

When people talk and are disgusted about the filth

They do not know

They are the filth

You are the filth

I am the filth.

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


Tears trickle

As emotions of fire sprinkle

And a batch of hate giggle

As the kingdom of poverty heckle

They cry out loud when hunger their stomachs tackle

None dances, they just wince as this is not a normal cycle


I could cut my hands

If human meat could pacify the lands

I would be food for the hungry lands

If it could assure me that he would feed those, and by it stand

Ugly band

That forces men to dance


My eyes are flooded

My shoulders heavy stony-padded

My heart is panic stricken and sympathy cladded

But thirst rushes and himself added

To the woes of these bony handed

Little angels of unfortunate arrivals who are heavy hearted

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.





Those are their treasures

They struggled for those treasures

Now you clear without measures

And you laugh in your vocation

They stand and gaze while their hearts are ablaze

They are thinking of how to answer their location

When seekers seek

Break with mildness

They bear the tears, love and laughter of the destitute

They are watching

They are watching laughing in madness

And crying in sorrow

They are watching their life long achievements being flushed irretrievably

They are watching the arms that received them with all their flaws brutally severed

They are watching you feed while they famish

They are watching in shock

So do it with sympathy

Do it with their presence in mind

Do it by stepping into their shoes

Pull those structures down gently

 They matter to the many eyes that openly weep.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


We cover things with things

A little wind clears for the tsunami

A smaller scandal paves way for the bigger

That’s why the Afros are struggling

You say, I say

The work remains

You sleep, I sleep

Our money is locked

You take, I take and all is spent

Africa unite! Africa unite?

When individual countries are apart?

We know the Anago man by his speech and corruption

We know the Ghanaman by his ways and evasive language

We know the Kenyan by speech and shape of head

The South African by speech and gangsterhood

We know the Zimbabwean by his crave for food

Master how can Africa unite?

Give me a dollar

Give me a shoe

If you can’t wear them make my house your damp

I can kneel if you’ll give me just a crumb.

Sitting on goldmine while begging for crumbs?

We hate to work, but love to eat

We love to say but hate to act

How can we be seen as any different?

Let’s pause and take a proper look

The wealth we seek

Is the seat we sit

And a little effort will help us unravel the mysterious master poor.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.