I know no foe
I don’t hate sow
I show no arrow in my bow
Until I am unfairly asked to kowtow

If you carry no hatred
In the inheritance bowl of your ancestry
Where stones of ethnicity aimed
At my dignity is atrociously firm
If you carry no buckets where catapults of class
Securely aims at my pride
If you carry no bag where bombs of racism
Aim at my struggling existence
If you hold no handcuffs to cuff my rights
Then I know you as no foe

Sins of fathers being carried by righteous wards
Is no fairness in my moral dictionary
As long as you come as is
I know no foe
I will know no foe
I will seek no foe
And I will embrace
Embrace your warmth with no qualms
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © April 25, 2019


Pain is looking at a difference, in molestation, afar
Devastation is seeing your reflection in the bins of others
Sadness is seeing minds trapped by slavery
And tracing their roots to yours
Bitterness is knowing it all with a helplessness
That imprisons your confidence
Brewing unshed tears in the sky of your heart

When chains arrested muscles of mine
And dragged them like subdued monsters
Through their own virgin fields
On paths made by their own,
Shadows of my mother’s mother had no place in matter
Yet here I stand
Eyes in these tiny windows in this space
Viewing the harvest of brutality
Planted centuries back

Who would have thought trapped games could break free
Plant roots to grow stems thicker than their hunters
To a point of jealousy,
Fear of overthrow
To carve acts of rebellion
And plans of erasing bonds carved by decomposed souls?

It breaks this heart to see the colour of her clothes
Smeared in violence
In hopelessness
In crime
In death
In submission to naughts
With the few on shelves mostly bleached to blend
Or made door mats to silence
While their lost roots lie in riches untapped
Wallowing through seas of poverty
Leaving bright thoughts in melancholy
Watching through windows of mock indifference
Oh! The irony of odds!!!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © May 16, 2018


Wool travels through a tree
In a pod which explodes to throw it out
Lucky hands gather to refine
Piece upon a piece into many elegant things
Who is a bird to blame hands
When it feeds on fruits
Stays on trees and
Paint its surrounding with its rear vomiting?

A hole can be whole
But in a whole lies a hole
A being was born by a being from a being by a being with no end
Every being artificialised in production
The world is a take upon a take upon a take
Blood being a mixture upon a mixture upon a mixture
All authentic lost to time

Oh voices of fake originals!
Horses of self imposed superiors!
Look above and hope to fly
But look down too for the earth awaits
To churn all into food for roots
Roots which would feed your artificials and their artificials
None is a stone which fears no fire, water and air
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) Jan. 9, 2017.


Explorations of the past
Led to greedy seeds sewn like monster plants
Monster plants which grew to take what it never owned
Cruel “beela” traps were set up
In black hunt
Aims of strength harvest causing mean arrests
As molestations manifested in attestations
Ah! Chained beings turned to dogs
Were forcefully pulled to hop like frogs
Painful reminiscencing!

Humans in flesh were boxed like sardines
Into tins of ships
Forcing airs to flee and
Causing many to lose their breaths
The poor dead were tossed into seas to feed grateful fishes
As their lands yearned for their hands in tilling
In worse scenarios, begged for their royal remains in its crying womb
Who did not know of the tears of the black innocent lands?
Lands coerced into a huge dungeon of poverty?

Dog foods that fed jewels of grieving mothers
Carnivorous whips that bit into fleshes with great spirits
Names of originalities metamorphosed into alienisms
As bodies, spirits and souls
Stood naked under crying skies
Inspected like hoes and machetes, dish washers
Pleasure holes, gun shields
How can living things be turned into robotics
And sold into houses to battle their lots
Now you need them gone?

Wake your dead to wake their stolen
To conjure the thorns which bit into fleshes
Holding their mouths to vomit them out
To fix on their rightful bodies
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
To fix their callouses and even their skins
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
To sow back virginities meanly stolen from saints
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
Preparing them in their birth surnames to the lands of their birth
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
To dive into seas and bellies of fishes to piece the pieces of the tossed expired
Giving them lives to be returned in full to their roots
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
Chanting wrongfully spilled blood from pores of the earth
Into their respective vessels
Wake your dead to right their wrongs
Backtracking time to erase hurts of loss from haunted heads and wombs
Wake your dead to wake their stolen
Evaporating your heavens like air into its forest of thorns
After quenching their greed
So you can be reared like the stolen to build your glitters
Then, none will evade your space
No head will care about your existence
No erased root will be stuck in its replants
As our innocence revert to supremacy in our heaven intact

Oh you who wake lion bites of pain in animosity!
You who wake monstrous dreams pushed into stalls of forgetfulness!
You whose fear of extinction make you human beasts!
If you cannot wake your dead for the change you seek
Let all your mouths lose their sounds of grumbling
Let all your disdain dissipate
Into blames of your ancestral games
Let all your murderous intents vanish
Like un-judicious dreams in wake
Let all your awareness of colour be nonexistent
You live in the paintings of your predecessors
There is nothing wrong with a farmer reaping his harvest
You are the traces of shifted usurpers now usurped
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 8, 2016


Legs of iron
Walk through this hell
Into the snow
Beneath which lie
The thieves who stole our innocence
Revived and lured out our dead-in-buried-slavery
Like zoo guards do fierce lions

I will wish to light them a fire
Which will burn into desire
And will blast into their attires
And turn hellish fires on their colonial ghosts
To extract all sweats
Tightly tune thirst
Until their knees walk in regrets
As their fores look on
Chained by their invisibilities

I am a monster
Yes, a monster they created from angels
Why lure out a lion
If you have no claws to fight it off your young?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


Whoever best fits the crown of hypocrisy
Must best answer in awareness
And not in disgust
And end this difficult conundrum
Our mouths scream hatred
Hatred for even those who are trying
To remedy the ills of their ancestors
While bitterness sits in our hearts
Like complacent royals

We cry ‘we aren’t like them’
But we women straighten our magical foamy hair
Which can stop unusual blood flow
Hoping to catch the attention of our men
Men, whose attention are mostly heightened
By the length and straightness of hair like theirs
And we cry we have seen the light?

We cry we love ourselves
While peeling off our rich
Melanin coated skin like snakes
And walking like pale corpses
In hopes of being like them
Just for fame or attention
And we claim we want to be left
As ourselves?
For whom is the deception?

We have discarded our clothes
As ‘kolo’
Dress like them
Use their languages to bond us
Follow their steps like shadows
And we want to claim equality?

We act like burnt browns
Brutal blacks
Beastial bellowers
Betraying our best blackhoods
Fie on us!
Shame on us!
We need our necks
To bow together
Only to rise with reasoning
We have failed us
And our forefathers
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


Wake ‘them’ dead
To wake their brutalised dead
Rupturing slave membranes like witch doctors freeing their captives
Ushering them back into their original places
Mapping them to their umbilical cords
Pillaring them in their own
As God rightly did
Making them litter their world with their generations
Do that or like a lizard
Open not your mouth!
Never think of being a dark shepherd;
All knowing, when you know not their spots
Leaders should know their destinations
Detailing take-off and arrival
Wear your thinking cap
And hold your workable tools
Not your frustrated dreams
When you know not their causes
Hands worked
Drizzling sweats were buried
Blood rained
To make you who you are now
All ones from the herd you want out
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016



They plucked stars
From their skies
Like unripe mangoes from their trees
And sent them to their dark earth
To polish them in light
One star after another
Brought greed for more
As pluckers turned merchants
After turning some stars hunters of good stars
Their own flesh and blood!

Parading bright stars on dirty markets
Like fake goods with great essence
It afforded them time to sit in collection of wealth
As alcohol dug rails in their throats
Through to their stomachs
Dodging cruelty which they should have washed down
The aisle of their rears

They dug pain gutters in feminine stars for their pleasure
Beautiful stars who they deemed monkeys
Breaking their hearts in their drunken lust
Using them like soaps to wash themselves
Caring not about their fading status

Breaking no sweats, they tortured
Using just heads, they rode on backs of stars
Claiming to be moons when they were just magnified pigs
After the stars polished their earths and made them bright
And their generations met and loved their ‘perceived’ rights
They seek to be rid of the stars who made their rights

Stars shine bright
Black stars shine in development making their lights hidden assets
What will these pigs do after throwing off generations
Whose back paths have been deserted into desserts?
Who shows them their back paths blocked by cruelty and greed?

They think they will be free after the stars leave
They don’t know their sluggishness are inherited
And their works will remain in their heads
With no executionists
If they are left without traces of the stars their cruel ancestors grazed
From the sky which awaits its revenge
Sanity now will beget anguish
And anguish will turn inherited masters slaves
Slaves of pesewas needing the whips
Whips their ancestors missed
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016
Picture credit: Google pics



It is appalling
Very shocking
What is served on various plates
In various cups
For young ones to feed into growth
Based on the physical
When there is no green blood

Whitemen serve foods of superiority
Water of black inferiority
Dessert of black boycotting
And pay for excercise for black annihilation
Sowing seeds of cruel masters
Who need to take possession of their slaves
In order to maintain their lands
When their royalties have jurisdictions
And their fates of zones are uncertain until growth
What at all is the reason?

Black people serve appetizers of white discrimination
Serve foods of white’s unfair treatment
Serve dessert of white danger
Forcing bitter waters of low self confidence down their throats
And tutor their young to be good planters
Of hurts and good harvesters of hatred
To force them to grow bombs of aggression
What at all do we aim for?

Could it be that minds need to make this habitat
A place for dogs hunting for same female?
Where one has to hurt to surrender
Or die to make the winner ascend the throne of a hole?
If so, who will be the prizes?
When men and women have their hands on deck
Standing like porcuppines shooting their opponents

Why has this gotten so bad?
So bad that even Indians who tasted dominance
Call blacks out in dirt
As half eyed beings bring out their whips
Thinking themselves better
Last time I checked
Only one skin stands out in unattainment
Wait, that is no trait for hatred
But a trait to treasure
So why the pleasure to control measure?

Could it be a section must extinct
For a section to be sole livers?
If so then who has the right
To be left here?
Whether donkeys or monkeys
Whether pigs or sticks
Whether dumb or intelligent
Only the moulder of breaths must decide
STOP THIS!!! You nothings!!!
And feed your youngs some real food
To grow sane
It is just a road
For all to ply
This life
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


When I ‘broke my hand’
And sought a band
Nana and Maame met in a band
To sing tribal tunes

They started by singing of Ewes
And how they are named after an animal
And raised their vocals like daunting pianists
To sing tales of the wickedness of the animal tribe
Their love for blood
In revenge
Their yearning for stealing rather than being given
Their love for spells
“Tukwei” Killing in just seven days
And their trait of marrying their own
Even after marrying from another tribe
Nothing was good about them in mama and grandma’s duet

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Colour is choice

Of the artist turned creator

Colour is naught

But a paint to grace


Colour is naught

But misinterpretation hails some

And like the idiots who fight for paints

And leave the house for ants and rats

We hail it so, living in hate


Black is deep

White is pale

A blend; so beautiful

Like God’s sweet tale

So why the rush

To maim and crush?

Life is beautiful but none sees naught

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Supremacy dresses flawlessly

Wearing clothes saintly as a saint

Making up like a beautiful goddess

Hiding wrinkles beneath the pile


Under the skirt of supremacy

There is no mercy


Under the skirt of Supremacy,

Hides the shame of low confidence


Under the skirt of supremacy

Hides the fear of loss of pride


Under the skirt of supremacy

All fruitful holes are extinct


Under the skirt of supremacy

Lies the infectious wounds the world dreads


Under the skirt of supremacy

Nothing sits beside pain


Yet we yearn to possess supremacy

Just to unveil the veiled mess

We are beings lusting for beasts

Beasts which will not hesitate to devour us

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


Together as one
Fears run rampant
Down the streets
When words are lost and
Solace springs from thin air,
Molecular mornings ignite
Divisions uniting the sky,
Conjoining the lost,
Churning distant souls refined
Into something quite like you and I
Something can be nothing
Walking through thin air without a face
Taunting with blurred thoughts without a trace
Molecular afternoons ignite
Threatening to spark the world ablaze
With fire making the world shiver
In oneness, vaporising hurts
Vaporising colours and forcing the hands
Of you and I to hold, attracting our eyes
To see through this deceitful disguise. 
That one is one and two are lies.
No one’s missing anywhere.
The sky will sing
What real love brings
Above all cost.
A world engraved is all the same
And not a soul is lost
In space
So if we sit still usurping seats of superiority
We might end up as two in pieces
Blasted by the bombs of thoughts
Thoughts which shut their mouths
With cessation of breath
So let’s be darlings of reasoning
Holding hands like swans
Knowing the vastness of the sea
Most importantly, knowing we can’t occupy it all
J. Lievre (of http://truantone.wordpress.com/) and Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



Veins hold each other

Tight, opening their arms to

Let blood flow for good


To make a being work

Veins forget their differences

And tirelessly work


A single break down

And all demonstrate for a

Hurried attention


A block at a point

 All stop, a rising notice

To save their own piece


Amazing how we

With thinking zones of many

Veins, fight as humans


Ingrates to the tee

Animals not deserving

Efforts of veins, THINK!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


Julia Manuel Photography
Julia Manuel Photography


How did God allow this?

Many bottles he made

Like the ingenious crafter

In his branding thoughts

Now it turns into a huge show

a show of beauty

A show of durability

A show of class

A show of geography

A show of war

Not what He bargained for

I know


We seem


We scream


We are

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



These natural black overalls

These natural white overalls

These natural brown overalls

These natural yellow overalls

Are just overalls like all overalls

We wear them to cover worldly alls

And take them off for earth to blend

Then our souls are seen as one

Who fights for packaging

When all they do is package?

We end up bickering for nothing

And neglect the purpose of our journey

I’m black, I white

I’m poor, I’m rich

I’m ignorant, I’m literate

Which soil, six feet under, knows these?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014





What the world needs is colourless

What beings want is colourless

To live blameless



Our problems stem from our need to be colourless

Blacks, browns, red and whites need to be colourless

For all to be blameless


Superiority hates colourless

Racism hates colourless

Geography hates colourless

Only colourless will make all blameless


Colour fights colourless

Because its boastfulness can be trashed by colourless

Its words can be seized by colourless

Then peace will be brought by colourless



Let there be the god called colourless

Bring here the saviour called colourless

And make all blameless

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014




We crave for confusion

Why do I say so?

The white craves blackness

The black craves whiteness

And so we complain to the air

See the white talking in creole

Or is it in blackness?

And see many claiming superiority

Probably because of lack of self confidence of their existence

Now see the blacks

Bleaching their skin

Throwing away the melanin many are craving for

See them craving for rosy cheeks

Which fits them not

And wearing long weaves

Making caricatures of themselves

And crying for equality

As though they seem to think they are not humans


As if that is not enough

We now crave for things of animals

Animal claws

Animal eye colours

And we crave for the earth’s

Golden teeth

Silver teeth


The creator should have made us so equal

In height


In facial

In colour

So we will always strive to see

Who is who

Because we crave confusion

So confusion we should have gotten

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


Natural Africa










Upon their touch

Innocence developed eagle wings

And flew to a city of no return



Upon their touch

Nature became an artificial lion

Roaring in pollution of bodies


Upon their touch

The gods were thrown like rotten meats

Into the den of hungry hyenas


Upon their touch

Wealth of life were neglected

For meaningless wealth of materials


Upon their touch

The beauty of life was stained

Because the native Africans saw they were truly naked

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014










They are like us

Eyes like ours

Hands like ours

Mouths like ours

Legs like ours

But why do they act like apes?

Let’s see


They farm to eat

Wear less to battle the air

Look dirty and care not

Act innocent

Like there’s no care in the world

They like idiots exchange salt for gold

What can we do?


In a world where riches rule

They definitely are a working force

We must not let go

So let them sell themselves

And leave us to subdue

They’re the goats who need a herd

We will be here and help their cause

To feed and read

And open their eyes

With our books of God

As they work our lands










They might be like us

But they are not us

What we feel

They sure look too strong

To feel

Machines of some sort they seem

So break their legs

Because they have no egos

Break their chests

For they have no eyes

Break their thoughts

For they have no brains

And ship them off to our far far farms










We are doing good

By us

We are doing good

By them

We are doing good

By all so no need to take ourselves

On guilt trips.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014




From the soothing balm of shea

To the ginger, pepper suppository

Through to hunger which was queer

And quenched with thick breakfast of ‘coco’

With plenty sunshine, my happiness was sealed

By the creator


I, like an angel, knew no colour

I knew no difference

I knew humans, black, white, yellow and whatever

And I would’ve never hesitated to play Ubuntu

With either as I saw all human parts play same functions

But for the tutelage of grown livers


I was born a proud African

But each tutoring severed a part of my pride

Replacing it with disdain

I know monkeys live in the forest

But I was thrown bananas and told monkeys are my kin

I know not whether my smooth skin is always seen with too much hair


I was told of the limitedness of my capabilities

The servantude and beggitude I was made for by beings I could swear

Had the complexion of pigs, I was clothed with shame as they used me for pennies

Now I know what I missed as an African Child

Please give the others freedom, give them books

Give them knowledge and soothe their rage


Give them wings, give them the skies

Leave the trees and help them fly

Up, up, up to the sky and beyond

Curb their insecurities and make them the beings they are

I lost my chance as an African child

And I grieve



Two wrongs can never make a right

Please let the new generation be free

Mama, Papa, brothers and sisters

Leave the chains which chain your minds

As many of the ‘humans’ have set rolling balls of freedom

For if our minds become free, we will be free indeed.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


The painful and humiliating songs

Sung by our forefathers

Who were classified as machetes and shields

Take endless journeys through my mind


Thoughts of the Fante gallants

Subdued by harmless guns

As they plead

“M’agya etu, mepawokyew

Menkum me ai! Mere ke sonkyi maaba”

To mouthless guns kill my spirit over and over again


Thoughts of the great Asantes

Mesmerised by the taste of salt

Which abounds on the shores of their lands

And exchanging precious gold for them

Are like needles piercing my pride in thousands of ways


Thoughts of others conniving to trade

With Angelic Satans and profiting

At the brutality of their own blood

Kill me a thousand times each day


I aim for no revenge

I just hope for these thoughts

To take their journeys to the other side

Where  boastful superiors pride

On the blood of my forefathers

And aim to live up to their legacies


Let us see then

After they wear these thoughts

Whether they can look into eyes of supposed monkeys

And still act their shameful selves

Without thinking themselves pigs.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


NOTE: I do respect everyone who deserves to be respected. This poem is in no offence to the white folks who respect themselves and humans in general. I do have white friends and I love them so much, but hearing the disrespect of blacks and the name calling by some people hurt me to no end, hence the poem, thoughts of the persona may come across as harsh but many provocations are harsher than this.



I am a black chalk

Chalks of all colours

Let’s join hands and draw a painting to stalk.

A painting to stalk inferiority complex,

A painting to stalk superiority,

A painting to stalk ethnocentrism

A painting to stalk racism

And haunt them until they land

In the traps of their hunters

Let’s give those hunters food,

And ourselves some peace for good.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



The taste of pepper differs

From the taste of onion


The taste of tomato differs

From the taste of carrots


The taste of cucumber differs

From the taste of green beans


But like soldiers with different abilities,

They, under the commander of fire, hold hands to fight the enemy of hunger


Know the blend

And lend a hand.


Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


I live on a tree

Which sits on the earth

Come to think of it, who doesn’t?

Then you must be some human

Food you eat,

Some clothes you wear,

The air you breathe,

All come from the tree

And its plant kingdom

So boldly call me an animal

Without thinking of what you are

And eat fruits,

Lie on a bed or a mat

And enjoy your unknown sarcastic life.

      Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014



Even vultures know

Yes, vultures sympathise with their village corpses

Like their own families, they eat but leave a little to be seen.

On other lands, new meat, different taste

If care is not taken, even bones cannot be seen.

I was told but I thought not

And just like a child viewing a beautiful river

Without considering its depth, I took it at face value

And did what pleasured my heart

Now I sit on the threshold of a great family,

One I helped weave like the spider weaves its web,

My new name fitting me perfectly “One not of these lands”

Words from the dead reverberates from the mouth of anxious graves

Reminding me of the route to my own,

Offering to hold my legs when need be,

Offering to be company in the dark.

Yes, I guess even the spirits are worried

Worried about their left behinds.

Some lesson learnt though:

Yours can never be someone else’s

As someone else’s can never be yours,

Mouths can proclaim in seconds

But deeds will firmly tell tales of no knowledge what mouth says.

The hands of time, the legs of the heart,

Teaches with every movement, sure.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014





The dust is sprinkled onto the monkey land

By pigs tutored to climb by the monkeys

Now it stands on a tall strong tree

Sprinkling dust to blind his teachers

The monkeys grovel

Wanting to see with their eyes

They try and try

But none thinks to look up

When they perfectly know the dust is coming from the sky

The little monkeys sit close beside the pig

Who has bags and bags of dust

And shout the name of the causer of their woes

But their parents shut them up

“Children must be quiet in times of chaos

You must have no voice.

What an elderly sees sitting down

Youngies like you will never see sitting on that tree”

So the dust is sprinkled for almost forever

By the time it ceases

Only the tree the pig stood on

And the one the children climbed remained

All the trees have been cut with its protective weed

And taken to the unknown with the child monkeys missing

And the land has been garnished with need

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.



I am a flower

I am a beautiful flower

A black flower with brown eyes

A black flower with red blood

God really has the coolest creativity ever


Now those are some flowers

Those are some white flowers

White flowers with blue eyes

Oh, some with brown, green, yellow and black eyes

Ouch! They have red blood flowing in their veins

The old man above has some coolest creative styles ever


What now?

The white and black flowers refusing co-habitation?

When they have similar features but for their colours? 

When they all need the land to grow beautifully?

When they need equal sunlight and rain to flourish?

When their maker is all for harmony?

The old man above must be regretting for being dynamic

He must be in His own world googling ‘the need for creativity’.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


Sing me a song

Sing me a hearty song

Made from the vocals of a tiger, a dove and a nightingale

Sing me a song

A song like melodious news

A song that makes room for all views

A song as wanted as the healing morning dew

A song that will not be heard by the few

A song that will make everyone a crew


Sing me a song

That powerful song

That will resound louder than the loudest ding dong

Let the song, like the great king, the people tame

Let the song, like the grave law, make the people same

Let this great song, move all aggressors and make them lame

Let this song captivate the captor like an unfathomable serene frame


I long for that song

To penetrate unscrupulous hearts that know nothing but wrong

And make their goodwill strong

Then the song will stand will stand tall

And the wind, sun, thunder and lightning call

To take the fall

For our many devious faults for the benefit of all


I had a dream

A very scary dream

Where everyone wore clothes that made them white

And I wore a dim colour making me dark, noticed but not properly seen

As soon as I entered, there was silence

As they all struggled to see the dark intruder

I yearned for the white robe

I hoped to have one of those white robes

Not because it was beautiful, but because it would make me fit into my Rome

But tried as I could, I got none of the white robes

They laughed and mocked

They told me to peel the black robe

I tried in desperation, and realized that I could have that white robe

But it wouldn’t fit me

What I had was a gift

A unique gift

There were no clothes

There were simply no clothes

The puzzle revealed itself

It was just a blessing

Blessed natural clothes that none could have no matter the determination

I knelt down and thanked my maker

But sunk into a bottomless pit into wakefulness

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.




There is the white pot

There is the red pot

There is the black pot

But based on the value placed on each

They can be same

The same clay makes the different pots

Why the preference?

The same force can break them all

Why the preference?

Why must the black pot be rejected and made dirty

When they were also made from the same mother earth?

Think about it, most black pots hold more value as they’ve been

Through more torturous flames to attain their stature and complexion

So why look down on them because of how they look?

“Honam yԑ honam, wo diԑ yԑ fitaa, ԑna me diԑ yԑ tuntum

Ԑwↄmu sԑ me ankasa me sԑ so fo de tuntum ayԑ awufo nkaedeԑ deԑ

Nanso, me gye me ho di sԑ meyԑ fԑ paa!

Enti adԑn na wopԑ sԑ wodidi ma ahwehwԑ atԑm?

Adԑn na wopԑ sԑ, wo ma me gye di sԑ nsu a ԑnam me mu no nnyԑ kↄkↄↄ te sԑ wodeԑ no pԑpԑԑpԑ?

Ewiase wↄ hↄ yi, obiara wↄ ade a yԑbԑtumi de no atotohu,

Sԑ wofrԑ me aduii a, menso mԑtumi afrԑ wo prԑko

Hunu nso sԑ, aduii nim nyansa bebree sene prako”

So treasure the pots equally and let’s stop this conversation of naught

For they never choose their sculptor and their form

If these differences persist

The least favoured pot may scream and fall

Since they are mostly placed side by side,

The fall of one can be the end for all

We are the earth

We are mortal

We are the pots made by the same sculptor which self-destructs with time

Bickering and differences will not change that

      Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia 2014.


In the animal kingdom

There are the smaller versions of the bigger

Defying the rule of equality.

In the land of the alphabets

There are the upper cases

And the lower cases

Defying the norm of respect for all.

In the earth’s hydrosphere there are the oceans;

Pacific, Atlantic, Indian, Southern, Artic Oceans

In their respected descending classes

Then the seas, lakes, rivers, streams and brooks

Pay homage to their kings by their flowing contributions.

Can there be equality to the tether?

When mountains glare at us

Showing their masculinity or femininity

And giving us proof of their variances?

Do we really want equality when we stand to lose the little help?

Are we really capable of fending for our emotions in torrential downpour of attacks?

Can we lift the heavies and turn around for the tiredness?

Remember, carrying isn’t all

There’s the sleeplessness, the whining, the feeding and the many chores.

Will we really be free if we become equal with societal mini-gods?

What will we gain if we are the mini gods instead of the mini goddesses?

Maybe respect must be sought

Equal remunerations for equal efforts must be achieved

But do we need to be bosses with our intermittent childlike hearts?

I may be in the land of wonder

Being swept and caressed by the handsomeness of doubt

And being frightened by the possibility of the winner takes it all

If that is it, let the seduction of doubt take its course and faze

And fright of the unknown turn to blindness

And help me see through the darkness

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.