When eyes
…groping in the dark
See a flicker of light
They follow
…loving its visibility
…without coercion
…without force

When high minds
…wallowing in unworthiness
See worthy minds
They seek with their meekness
…and learn to par
This is the picture of rightness

Living worshippers are the model converts
…of their followed
Their deeds feed their watching
Their nots close minds of their watching
If a force is needed for your converting cause
Then you’re like sick humans
…selling the medicine of their sickness
…to one who knows so well about their well-being
The situational mockery
…needs no emphasis

Coercion flaws adhesions to norms
Force causes rebellion in acts denigrating to causes
Manipulations create angst
…which in turn parcel deceit
…soiling the name of worship
So if you can’t stop,
Halt your faults and cult your vault
…of righteousness
To magnetize your target with curiosity
…and jealous identification
Just walk your talks
Observe the teachings of your Bible
Qualify your Quran with sanctimonious awesomeness
Trade your traditions
…in exemplary and attractive models
So their appeals will work on turning audiences
…into congregations
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © November 24, 2019


The fate crow
Tore and flew a con
That fear creeps
Traumatizing folks like crazy
Tell the farmers in crew
Their forces need to close

As skies turn mask for the heavens
And Satan turns mark of deceptions
As sorries troll more for the hells
And stories trick men into dominion
Tell the fate crows
Who tore and flew the con
That their forces need to close

Terror now triumphs over truth
Falsity flocks like fleas with fearsome fires
Impudence insults innocence
While winners wear their wretched wrecks
Tell the fate crows
Who tore and flew the con
That their forces need to close

No farmer holds a machete
And watches on as their walking sticks tower
…way above them
When their hands do the holding
And their legs help with its locomotion
So –
Tell the fate crows
Who tore and flew this con
That their forces need a close
So our family can stay close
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Nov. 14, 2019


Just as models take the shine of designers,
Actors take the shine of writers
Pretenders in pastoral clothes
…are taking the shine out of your powers
Don’t you see?
No, ahonuabobirim, can’t you see?

I thought you were the driver
And like mates
…your prophets commune knowing they are just a tribune
…so fear to err
So why have they killed your engine
…and are pushing you on reckless roads
…as you sit quietly in the front seat?

Where are the sulfur and fire
…which made examples of Sodom and Gomorrah?
Where is the flooding rain
…which caused Noah’s nation to rot
…in order to birth a new?
Where is your promised anger in your mocked laws?
Are you amused watching you being used in an abuse
…to confuse the lost
…who refuse your follow due to the tricks of your sents?
Can’t you see your comics acting tragic in your logic nation?

If you really rule your nation
You need to sit to fit and not sit
…as your throat is slit
…right in front of your worshippers
You rocking a mocking in front of all is appalling
When your laws state clearly your intolerant stand
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 27, 2019


Fellows finally find freedom
…in feeding from fem-pots
With no fear
…of being tagged failures
Loving their forms

It is better to show the “sins” snowing within
…than wrapping it up
…and tanning your outer with piety
Real talent is eating from a good bowl
…and licking it up in worship
…caring not about fingers in pointing
…thoughts of anointed shaming
…mouths carrying for a selling
…Ears waiting for a hearing
That Will is praiseworthy
…on the fearless, oh sons!

So man up even before God
And live like the wolves you are
…instead of sheeping in self deception
Sins are mere clothes of fallibility for humans
Our real works, should suffer no judgment
…for our flawed personal choices
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 20, 2019


Preacher –
If my mama couldn’t reach me
And my papa couldn’t teach me
Please don’t preach me
…and turn around to act leach
…to bleach my pocket into tatters

If you need a socket to charge your pocket
…bribe me with no locket
For I am a rocket which blasts such pockets
If you need a dam to source your electrickcity
I am a harm which lights no such city

The world was better until your cluster
Which now litter to shatter
…thanks to your brain batter

Culture –
If you can’t nurture me
Then don’t torture me
Your punctures and ruptures of lectures
…build no structures of mine
Nature’s stature sprinkles freedom in growth
How your gestures restructure
…minds to torture
Model beasts in carnivorous feasts

So Culture
Tame your nature
And respect your stature
So I can grow my stature through my nature without your preacher’s risky reach
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 14, 2019


Clothes to shada so all can yada
Hair to pair so it can fata
Footwear to match so atanfo can shiver
Makeup to fit, to look the perfect diva
God’s temples have turned runways

Whispers tiptoe within church walls
And turn bold talks after with shouting balls
“Did you see Awo Yaa’s duku?
It looked like the head of Obosom Bruku”
“I could fit into one of Agbozo’s trouser legs
He was a perfect stick in the agbada trousers!”
Many others will add to exude self importance
For the happy miseries
Who pose relaxed
…after turning God’s churches into fashion runways

What gave to level the poor with the rich
Has today become classist
…milking the poor as desperate shepherds milk lean cows
And buys body shaming
…to gift their horrific struggles
The Bible now dribbles the poor
…sip their blood to turn users tipsy and greedy
…like abɛnom
To continuously model vampires on pulpits
While wearing refined sweat like decorated pigs
Why have churches turned fashion runways?

If the end times exist
It would have come to resist
Insisting on the right
…to refresh the frozen horrors

Which hell is greater than a brainwashed head
…on a suffering body?

Now none searches for real churches
…and fetches no wretches reaching for the unfortunate
Real churches died long before now
With none knowing how

Some may call for hedging
…claiming others are still living true
But which wise pauper acts elder
…even in true churches?
Face it
All you attend are fashion runways
…which turn hypocritical networks after closing
…and metamorphose into gossip palours at home
OH, forget ye not the models posing on internet streets
…faking thanks to the almighty
It is really a runway now
…exhibiting clothes and money
In Sunday showdowns
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 6, 2019


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


If you lose sleep to keep a hope
…of my swinging slope
…from deviancy to your earth God cope
Then you need a potent dope
If not, you’ll forever mope
Because I will forever be a deviant

Show me the cross
And I’ll turn boss to use it as seat
For many to carry
My legs, free from the walking worry

Living in times past
Using another’s suffering to lock your passions
Throwing the keys into the dungeons of regret
Guarded by hungry lions of fear
Is no style I wish to wear
I live forever a deviant

If my body calls for tickling treasures
I will sit on shamelessness
And freely descend the stairs of passion
Exploring every cave every hair on my body saves
To arrest your blinks and harden your demons for your shrinks
I live forever a deviant

If my mouth calls for a drink to my livers shrink
I will sit on societal scares
And wheel myself into every drum
…hosting akpet
Call it whatever
If an asadweam will be my new name
I sure will embrace it
What will wreck me?
Dancing dressless with the naked air?
Drying deadly sweats and calling lost sleep to pores
…no matter which floor calls as bed?
Eyes watching to record for their fingers and mouths
To do hawking of me
And want shame as fee
Forget it
I live forever a deviant

Whatever badness is in your conventions
I am refurbishing
Because those who preach your cross
Mostly preach crap which scrap off the map leading to the tap of wisdom and
Are also those who drink the blood in dissatisfaction
Turning mosquitoes to further feast on the crowd
Those who preach “no adultery”
Are those who mostly use many owned holes hiding in their pulpits
…massaging and shiver biting
To orgasmically force their shouting of disbelief on their congregation
Blinded and bound by threats of some books
Creating holes on our pots to drain our lot
I will forever live a deviant!

So let me live my deviancy
Smoking my intestines out in realism
Blasting my enemies off
In a sanity I build
I am living my awesome deviance

For I will build my God to act ladder to climb to God
I will build my don’ts to work my dos in a comfort I feel
I have shed the skin of the dictated
And now live in the skin of the dictating
I see death’s womb right there
And you call for self arrest into some dubious religious cage?
Forget it
I am living forever a deviant
In my own deviation
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © September 8, 2019


Days when fear marched many –
…like cattle
…into the fences of many Yahwehs
…are over

Days when hell’s description
…forced hearts into cuffs of religion
…just as innocent people are forcefully imprisoned
…are so so over

So tell me about hell
And I will show you a shell of thick skin
Which fears no fire and needs no requirement
…to pass to death’s domain
Tell me about revelations
…and I will refer you back to my forefathers
Who lived peacefully without a Christ
If you are able to bring them back
…with their burns and sufferings
…and their marks and regrets
Then I might sit at the crossroads of thought
…at your words

In this realm where one God is divided into millions in equal command
…all working with different beliefs
Why must each try a boasting of the best?

Love your God through your angels
And let others love their God through their gods
Only in the bosom of death
…will we get the answer to the right and the wrong paths
…to God Almighty
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © September 1, 2019


We are where we are
Because long ago, guardian spirits went to visit the Gods
…on our behalf
…and came back to a locked door
…with alien chants at their hunt

Fearing demons had besieged their people
…they called on the Gods to save the people
…but the people called the Gods Satan
…and named the guardian spirits
Banishing them to the nearby forest
…and naming the protective forest “evil”
…the Gods capital initial demoted
…like a faulted soldier
…to a common
Human spirits gathering at their chase
…with hooting claps
…and deafening curses of prayers

The waters they protected
…were soiled with litter
…until aliens who had seen their glitter
…mined their piety
The freedom they gave
…soon deminished
…but the people were dedicated
…their prayers intensifying
…like the Job they’d been told of
…whose severe suffering gave way to happy ending

Soon –
…the people were hunted like antelopes and dears
…and bundled to strange lands
…some of their very own trained to be architects of their woes
But they still prayed

They were made to curse their ancestors
…and were preached to be non-resistors
They were made to curse their birthright
…and were made to see all of theirs as not-right
They were made to bow to nothings
…and were scarred to live like nothings
Their lasses branded crass asses
…needed for short relief
…and thrown into grief
They still prayed
…and proceeded to evict the gods from the evil forest
…caring not about their dwelling
As the new masters
…mastered the art of drinking their libations
…and killing many many many of them
…on the ticket of their laws
The people still prayed

Now the gods are gone with their great spirits
…to Odomankomah knows where
As the people still stand on poor stages
…dancing to small gifts
…entertaining bigwigs
Their egos pounded with their pride
…and fed to dogs who act soldiers
…in their check
Yet the prayers intensify
…each day
There is no awakening
…that they murder their gods
…with alien incantations
…which has deluded them into thinking
…shouting prayers are all the hardwork needed
…for one’s own success

As selected few are fed on greed pans
Work for self growth
…sit lean by roadsides
…seen by visitors
…unseen by the people
As poverty carts them through paths
…and streets
…right to the highways

They still pray
…they still turn their ‘awakened’ evils
…and sit by as they are hunted and killed
…their deaths celebrated
As their prayers thank in ironic magnanimity

Prayers still fill the land
…deafening poor ears whose fear
…push them under beds of discomfort
Yet only the burns in the sun intensify
…only the drowning of the rains visit
The air acts gentle
…but spreads unknown illnesses in vengeance
None sees the wrong of the gods
…none wants to notice the sadness of the spirits
As prayers pile on prayers
…in the belief of the murders of the protectors turned devils
…as years pile on years after years
Such a sorry story!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © August 18, 2019


There was a lamp
…which was made to stamp
…the moral directions of man
It worked well under a ban

This lamp gained roots
…after tasting negative boots
And upgraded into electricity
…seeking to brighten many a city
…but now sells them pity
…through flawed supremacentric equity

It drains, from heads, waters of discernment
…by twisting the initial commandments
Leaving beneficiaries lost
…at their own cost

It turns its shine off in dark sins
…giving some followers bold bins
…of shamelessness even when day wakes
…celebrating with extravagant cakes
…bought from the sweats they rake
…off the naive who believe the road to take
…has shines they keep
…under their dubious beep

Now they have hidden the right poles
And are murdering tiring soles
…which trip on stones
…and break their bones
…of piety
…knowing not their light workers have turned many a deity
Using high voltage
…to their own advantage

Their dum has given wings to immorality
…which dresses like morality
And parades in the day
…arresting those with something to say
…with spiritual fears
…and sometimes traditional spears
…hidden in their covered rears

How boldness has climbed a tree
…in all that horrendous be
Beats my imagination
Today, Mathew marks John to kill
…as Luke looks on
Today Joshua judges Ruth
…at Ho sees to Haba cook

A day will come
Hate will be the Psalm
Due will be thrown into an enemy
Gen will walk with nemesis
Jee will sue in stress
And Mo will harm through meds

A day will come
Lamentations will lead to revelations of doom
…and water the land
…through the very light with wires believed
…to lead straight to a being
…beyond the sky
If mouths continuously close
…to its electrocution of greed
…and barbaric need of opposing their appointer
…in the guise of His clothes

A day will come
…the little left commune vinculum in humanity
…will be broken
…none will be spared the burn
…in the hell fires of religion
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © August 4, 2019


You’re a God
…lost in gods
…now living in huge mansions
…looking down on the poor

You’re a God
…lost in waters
…turned clouds
…which only fall on roofs of the wealthy

You’re a God
…lost in soil
…gifting your fertility to hostile harems of cheats
…shaming the good

You’re a God
…who has lost his songs
…in tongues of the innocent
…leaving the noise of deceit to roam wild

You’re a God
…who has lost his sword for the wicked
…and replaced it with a sword
…aiming at the pious
…your wind slapping goodness at your order

You’re a God with blames
…from atrocious lies to sad sad cries
…ha, desecrating duping to unfair deaths

You’re a God whose conscience needs a trial
Your love needing a revival
For your mirrors lie in lies
Framing your monstrosity as mercy
…making your loyals fall from royals
…into robes of servants
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © July 10, 2019


It was supposed to be farm stool
That every tired farmer could sit in rest
It was supposed to be a river
Meandering across scary deserts
For tired travelers on paupering roads
To quench their thirst
It was supposed to be a fruited tree
For all in hunger
A calmer for all in anger
A shelter, for all to treasure
A moral wholesale, for all to measure
A priceless home for all troubled, struggling and happy
But what do we see?

Money has bought the foresight of all
Trashing morals in clothes of fecal wealth
Trashing help in pants of corruption
Throwing God’s love to the wind
Like ashes in a tsunami
Why won’t masses push for an overthrow?

We build our forts on trust
In blinded googles
We build our thoughts on worship
On mis-sighted men in arranged accoutrements
We bank our hope on foxes in wool
Thinking others sinners
Fearing the devils in space
Locking our doors with our enemies
And sleeping so soundly
Of what use is God’s man who stashes food
When stomachs cry in thunder of famine?

It is sad that the world has seen this day
Where holes live on holiness
And every ant has a choice to lead to feed
Or sit to be fed on
The heart of God is really bigger than man and his beholdings
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © August 11, 2018


Worship is in a sea of destruction

Being torn apart by most of their sailors’ deceptions

Shot by sins which once sat

In front of their potent rifles

Their congregants scattering

For fear of lions of confusions

And bugs of distrust


It seems those days are cutting their rope ties

From the chariot of religion

Passions of sluggishness growing with every blast of greed

Temples are fast turning into market places

Many places of worship are now like brothels

Sacred places now act as chaotic as a gambling spot

There are temples of demeaning courts

Severing umbilical cords of the surrendered

From mythical existences

Who planted the moths in this living created?


Far eyes see a day

When Christ will turn myth unrecognised

When other prophets will turn stories in mock laughter

When science will take over heads and hearts and highs in every realm

I may be the sand under unknown feet

One thing is clear

These words, born on an easing pot

Will sound loudly in the echoes of my voice

In this worldly cave

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 27, 2017


There is no baby born with a mark of religion
There is no baby born in religious colours
Man made religion
So sought and still seeks routes to God
Many paths can lead to a farm
Where they meet, there is no ownership
Why do we seek superiority in the face of tolerance?

What will go wrong if a Christian acknowledges the existence of Islam and vice versa?
What will go wrong if Muslims left
Blasphemy for Allah to battle
Working to help him by explaining and teaching the directions in the Qur’an?
What will happen if the idol worshipper is given his due of respect
As he bows to nature which feeds, nurtures and shelters all?

We need the obedience of donkeys to serve our hearts
And need the hard work of ants to propagate our beliefs
We need the ears of elephants
To listen and discern
We need the togetherness of bees to protect our lives like they do their honey
Making smoke to weaken our bond
Forcing us to fall prey to our enemies
Is just becoming Frankenstein Monsters
Who but the spider
Fixes its web torn into by intruders?
Wise words marry good ears
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) Nov. 26, 2016


Odomankoma the wise
Craftily hid it in all things
That we may look
Look and think
Think and link
Link and create
And so it is
That man created pipe
The source of his urine as inspiration
Well, so I think

Odomankoma the all knowing
Did wisdom in all hid
Thus herbalists looked
Studied and tried
Errored and corrected
As Asantes watched crafty spiders,
Wove their strands,
As they wove their webs
And clothed their royals
And some with the beautiful kente

Odomankoma gave half
To inspire fullness
So the sun woke and hid to sleep
In the wilderness
Of our ancestors
Who watched and scratched
And formed “bobo”
Until electric inspiration
Came from an alien head

Above all else
Odomankoma hid himself
Knowing familiarity breeds contempt
And fear of the unknown
Is addictive
And draws many to kneel
Like dedicated slaves
Needing to please
The seers of ancient past
Saw to protect nature
Your handiwork

Now heads have caught on
“Bow to let pleasures pass
Or hell’ fires have fangs so torturous”
And many bow
In crooked ways
Now not caring about the unseeing eyes
Expecting signs of end nearness
To right rightly into heaven

“Cover your damn heads you wenches
And let no sins touch your men
For you are live temptations”
And feminines who did no wrong
Have no faults
Yearn to live
“Stop your crimes
All ye men
Or suffer whipping
Suffer amputations
Suffer embarrassments
Suffer death”
And men suffer to offer
Some aided by dark
Some caught and slaughtered
Fear of the unknown

Fear of the unknown
Odomankoma crocheted
Man adopted
Fused to shock
Rocked to mock
Mocked to stock
Stocked to tock
Tocked to clock
Clocked to cock
Cocked to flock
Flocked to lock
Locked for their ends
Money in God’s hands:
Money for their comfort
Gifts for God:
Gifts for the crafty
Fear of the unknown

Archaism has rocked your creation
Once in adoration
It stands in manipulation
Work your magic
Or embrace blasphemy
The fear of the unknown now stands naked
And dances in discos of naive minds
Arresting lion hearts
None can touch piety
In your unmasked realm
I cannot say Odomankoma the flop
But if this continues
You might be thankful for the flop name
As that would be the mildest
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


To the devout Christian
When the Islamic cock crows
It is noise unprecedented

To the committed Muslim
Sounds of claps
Loud voices of prayers
Stomping feet in Satanic battles
Are like disco songs
In their tired beds
Unnecessary noise

To the African traditionalist
Muslims are parodies of the alien Mohammed (SAW)
Their laughable apparels
Calling for the laughter of heat
In a land where heat reigns
Their times of prayers
Important times lost at work

To the African Traditionalist
Christians are like toys of alien Christs
Hardening their palms
Under delusions of serving God
Forgetting their ancestors watch
Ancestors who provide water
And protection
All others are queer believers
Of queer beings or things

Although Christians and Muslims
Deem traditionalists Satanic
I worry at the thought of worship
It is a worrisome world
Where no religion tags beings in birth
But beings tag to kill in belief in growth
Can I laugh outloud now
At their “One God” claim?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


Ya Allah
In hunger they pray
All in a prayer say
Hoping you will hear
Wipe all tears
Quench all fears
And still stay near
And I for them a prayer say

Root out all evil
Terrify all terrors
With every ablution
And every congregation
Every bow of a forehead
Give them peace
With every say of a prayer
Grant more understanding
For before their coming
There was an is
And after their coming
There still will be a will
No need for forced dress of religion
Oh ya Allah
Protect what you create
No life beats another
Destroying your creation
Is no paradise ticket
Grant their hearts humane sense
More understanding
More understanding

For there is no difference
In blood underlinings
Like the humble servant I am
Ya Allah
I know you as only God
All seeing
All powerful
All great
So answer
Answer this prayer
This prayer which comes from “a friend of your children”
As they will say
But I know we are one before you
And I am also your skilled handicraft
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016



‘Wↄi wↄi, wↄi, wↄi wↄi!’

Islamic rules wear traditional smocks

Sweating under oblivion in locks

Powering croaky voices and attracting flocks

Who open fem-stalls and put in stocks

Hammering submission like traveling seconds of clocks

They proudly say they are the cocks



‘Wↄi wↄi, wↄi, wↄi wↄi!’

I am sure when Islam reached the docks

Needing to attract wearing alien frocks

As brutish men took off their frocks

Smock wearers peeled their undies like Australian jocks

But when they were beaten and taunted with mocks

They developed some tendencies to give some knocks

So they got their fems in misinterpreted locks

And sealed them with fake Allah’s rocks


A slap and a kick and the tick tocks

Pushed in shadows and pain and the tick tocks

Dances in hot smocks for pleasure and the tick tocks

Now urbanization boils and talks as the tick tocks

The suppressed veils must be unveiled before the tick talks

And when they are unveiled, ‘wↄi wↄi, wↄi, wↄi wↄi!’

I will dance to the rhythms of the tick tocks

And lie flat in praise for the breaking of the locks

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2015


bad spirits

Bad spirits! Call Satan!

You are being made clothes

Clothes of all deception and sins

And you lie in the quiet?


Last night, I met a thief

He pleaded his cause and named Satan

As the blind possessor who led him astray

And you lie in the quiet?


Three days ago,

I heard of a man whose central stick

Whipped and killed a teenage child

He named Bad spirits and you lie quiet?


Need I mention the town gossip

Who said she witnessed an anointed

Climbing the pleasure wall of his acolyte?

She named Satan and you guys lie quiet?


What of the self acclaimed preacher

Who kowtowed in the Dark, priestess of Kill for Me?

Like an armedrobber, he took from the rich and poor alike

When he was caught he named both of you and you are quiet?


From the human sellers

To the hurt nursers,

All call you two

And you lie quiet?


Get up!

Convene a meeting!

And give a press conference

Confirming or otherwise

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



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


Fetish pastors possessed

On Holy grounds


Its the work of the Christian God

For none sees powder

None sees tails

None sees dreadlocks

All we see are expensive clothes

Some jewelleries

Mirrored shoes

And some hitting-noses-hard-perfumes

Are gods now wearing the mask of God?

Possession in spinning!

Possession in falling!

Possession in shouting!

Then visions in eyes-closed format,


Fetish pastors with huge titles

Dr. Dr. Sower of Rocks!

Professor Emeritus, Walker on water!

Fetishes in darkness

Fetish pastors in daylight!

Humans with grave needs have no eyes

Humans with little needs see

I’m waiting for the day

The seers will fetch the blinded their eyes

I know your stools will be pulled

From under your hard sticky buttocks

And like dead lizards

You will lie on your backs

Then we will open your stomachs

To see the “godly” monies you spent

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014




Lord God

So merciful

Beyond all high thinking

Rewarding the righteous with love



Lord God

Shiny than brightness

No eye can ever stand His sight

Minds which comprehend Him go mad



Good God

Fearful anger

Which knows no appeasement

And smites with a double edged sword




His names are much

They can never have count

He is that awesome and so great


Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



I took a journey

On a revelation sea

Funny, how the waves

Roll to blind me when none sees

I think I sea

But I see the see

I think I’ve reached

But I fall in

Then I grope for my boat

Just when I settle in,

The waves come in furious

And turn my boat and I over

Now I know not what I wanted to see on the sea

I see the sea alright

But I see not what I wanted to see

No revelation out there

The waves never allows for the revelation

Could it be it hides an un-revealable secret?

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















Thou art an earth idol

Thy heart is not thine

Thy soul dwelleth in the temple of Jah

Like a congregation in a church

Though honour and piousness do ye fortify

Thy yearnings must be buried like a dead being

None liveth wiith a rotten corpse

Its stench conquereth the living nose

Thy cross is a buried yearning

No matter its weight

Be in wait

For thy master to take His temple

Now, stuff the teddy bear

As all thy yearnings bear

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


For a mystic unknown

Much hatred is shown

For a mythical blessing

There are many hate lessons

So this one says hurtful things to that one

And that one cuts the ear of this one

And the brother of this one kills that one

What is their aim?

To please one who has never been seen?

If you say He created man

Who wants to see his creations destroyed?

It is frightening, the creation of gods which clash

And kills for something that must breed peace.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014-


When I was young, I remember I was a devout Christian. I prayed and prayed for others and sang so well at church. But growth came with the realisation that religion is psychology manipulated. Its main purpose is to use what is morally upright to cage the mind and subdue our animal urges (which they are failing miserably)

Why did I get to think that before I was fifteen? I can’t tell but I stopped attending church one day when a woman used an appeal for fund to ask for money I did not have and embarrassed me by calling my name and reprimanding me for not having the said amount in the full glare of the congregation. Did I begrudge her? No! I only begrudged the system which was turning into a money grabbing system. Because many were fighting with gestures to be the Miss or Mr. Church for the day by wearing fancy and expensive clothes. We cannot miss the part where many demons are being cast out of high fever patients and the breaking of family ties by using the witchcraft card. (I have to be fair by saying there might be genuine cases)

Then I came up north and started studying the Islamic religion.  I saw it as the worse form of Christianity where the treatment of women are concerned. If I were a man, I may have fancied it. (But I realised that the Quaran might have given them a green light to abuse women “slightly” when all else to reprimand them fail but people in northern Ghana confuse their culture with Islam and stand on the ticket of Quaran’s mild beating to abuse women” There is also the aggression part, where most of them fight in togetherness, so if a brother has a problem with one man, it becomes a general problem and mass fighting breaks. And there is also the part of being defensive whenever the unfair behavioural traits are raised. Instead of trying to understand the  meaning of peace, they resort to insults and assault those who say the truth.

I started studying the traditional religion in my desperation. When a dear one got seriously ill and could not be cured. I realised people confuse herbal medicine with traditional healing. Whatever it is, some fetishes are worse as they only want to take money from desperate people to enrich themselves. If there are good traditionalists, I may not know but sure the good ones are difficult to come by.

I decided to have my own religion where I pray to the most high God by myself, not through Jesus, Mohammed or a lesser god. If we look at it carefully, religion seems to be the cause of all greed. Please let’s not bring the God and blasphemy factor in here. I am talking about the worldly realm of religion. When some philosophers say religion is one of the tools of colonisation, they are not wrong. Can we count the number of people who have died in the name of religion? Can we think of anything that brings division among humans without mentioning religion? It can subdue and infuriate depending on a person.

Even writing this, I am a bit worried about the nasty comments of some passionate followers of some religion who are drunk by the defence of their beliefs but that should not deter me from airing my views or putting across my opinion; which is like a nose, and everyone has one (according to a famous saying) I feel if unnecessary passions are tamed and humans reason as humans first of all and show respect for each-other as we practice what we believe in quietly, and stop hailing people who tend to exploit us, the world will be a better place.


I need to talk to you

Papa, I need to talk to you

I really admire you,

Your discipline and your teachings

Thanks to you, many pray five times to Allah

Many fast a month out of every year

Thanks to you, Many live descent lives

But please can I talk to you one on one only for today?

Without fear of being victimised, insulted,

Banished or killed?

A child can commit any sin and will still

Be loved by his parent

Why do you forsake my brothers and sisters

Who sway?

Is autocracy your thing?

Must I always have the fear of death

Hanging on my mind, making me nervous?

These questions I ask,

Please freeze your temper

And raise your hands to your guards

To freeze their ears

I am only talking to you and you alone

I need you to tell me why people have to live

Without some body parts or exit this world

On your instruction, what I hear always.

So you create to take unfairly?

What about women?

Did you create them as helping hands?

Then why did you put passions and yearnings in them?

If that is not the case, why do you keep silent?

The many hearts scattered in your name

Can build ten worlds, why is that?

Please tell me today

Give me answers and let me take up the veil

If there is a truth to it, I’d gladly give my heart to your cause

Or give my back for you to have my heart to free my soul

If you turn out to be ruthless.

     Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


I was the rotten wood 

Which water lifers used as food

Water determined where I stood

Would’ve fled if I could

But I had not the power


On the water, you shouted

In your fuming loudest

“Do you wish to be the haunted?”

He went in his slowest

And you picked me up


Your soothing balm,

Your seeing me as the palm,

Makes me recite the happy chapters of Psalms

I will always run to your arms

My lover, friend and saviour.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014




Children, these laptops you sit behind, telling lies and duping the innocent has its repercussions. There is always the threat of a dog eat dog situation. Now put off those things and listen to my story.

When I went to the secondary school, my mother was a chop bar operator and my dad was a gate man, what Ghanaians now call ‘security man’ to keep up appearances. Saboni Senior Secondary School, now Saboni Senior High School was a school with many rich kids. Almost half of the population of male students owned cars in their homes, the things they brought were things many average Ghanaians cannot afford. My school father was ashamed when he opened my chop box for the first time; the one olonka of gari, the one margarine tin of sugar, the shito in a small tin, and my key soap for bathing and washing. He immediately sent me to his corner, filled my box before calling his peers to come take a look. I was shocked, I didn’t know what half of the things in my box were but they were paraded as mine.

Later that day, Senior Stylish called me to a secluded place and told me to follow his lead. He told me if people get to know I am from a humble background, I’ll be victimized to a point of abandoning the school.

“Students here love to be lied to, they will keep worshiping and looking to be worshiped as long as they are told you are in their league. Trying to live an honest life is like willingly going to hell” He added.

“Please Senior, then how do I keep on filling that chop box? My parents can’t afford to-” I feebly said but before I could finish he told me he would teach me how.

My name was changed from kwasi Boadu Adu to Gold Goodies. The next week, he gave me a gift, a beautiful desk top computer. Don’t look at me as thought I am lying, he had rented a house in town, that was where he kept his things and that was where my gift was. I had only seen the computer on the television, but I was getting it as a gift and I was only seventeen years old. He told me there are different ways the computer could fetch me money.

The first was to look for honest money, where I get a rich white girl to fall in love with me, send me money, but I get to marry her in future. This way, I could get enough to feed and fill my box but cannot get enough to buy a car.

The second is to get to dupe many white girls and even women. Most of these women are obese and ugly. They are looking for people to love them, some are of the view that African men are greedy so will do anything for some few change. These women hit the internet with fairly nice pictures waiting for people to fall into their bait, thinking after you are brought to their country, it will be too late. Senior Stylish said we could also use pictures of other people to trap them into getting huge sums of monies. This way, I could live like a star, being able to afford anything I wanted. If I needed to get so much to build houses and change cars in weeks, I could go with him to Mallam Maiga for a charm.

There is a third which involves killing human beings, getting rings and sometimes snakes which will help you get everything you command from your client. Even the snakes could vomit money.

That I vehemently rejected. So I started with the honest one.

As to if it is not a crime, he said they did take something from us when they colonised us, it is about time to take something from them for all their despicable racism and silly superiority and that even the Bible says an arm for an arm.

During school hours, I was always in class, after supper no one could trace my school father and I. we were never in any problem in roll calls, we always paid the prices even to some teachers. I got a girl called Melisa. I think I was not so lucky, all she could send was 5o dollars in a month. Then I used a hot beautiful girl’s photo to get into the second phase. All I needed was a female voice to assure those perverts that I was really a girl and I got monies my parents can never know exist in one pocket in their lifetime. I bought a car, lived lavishly, all girls had to do was mention my nickname in a sexy manner; ‘Gold Goooooodies’ and I splashed money on them as if I was a money tree.

I had a girlfriend before I got to know it. She seduced me, slept with me and I saw heaven open. There was nothing Deborah wanted I didn’t give. I went as far as buying her two cars until I realized she was a bowl with many hands. Every hand could have a morsel of food from her earthenware. I was hurt, appalled and disgusted at the same time. Broken hearted, I sought revenge. I dated as many girls as I could and lived as I liked. I was introduced to drugs to fill my void because no matter how much I made, I felt empty. When Stylish was about to complete, he told me he wanted to break a deal which will help him settle in life

Mallam Maiga gave him a charm. All he needed to send was a cock. Unbeknownst to him, it was just the first phase. The second was his sister, the third, his mother, the fourth was his elder brother. All these people died and he still could not break his deal. He was so peeved that he took a machete and decided to kill Mallam Maiga. The gods of the mallam stuck, he became deaf and dumb. No matter what we did, we could not heal him.

Superficial, one of his friends had two hundred thousand dollars in his foreign account. A deal with one white man took everything from him. The white crook duped the Superficial crook and took everything, leaving 500 dollars. One of the Sakawa girls got what we all thought was candidiasis, it turned into something we knew not. One of her friends said it was a deal with one of her internet clients which led her into that situation, something about certain people using the internet to buy souls of greedy people for power.

When I reached second year, I became too lonely and felt too empty that I had to increase my hard drug usage. I started acting funny, slapping teachers, disrespecting authority until I was sent to the psychiatric hospital. I spent a year there before my mother took me to see a priest. The priest made me confess after prayers were said in my favour and that is how I became whole.

So my little brothers, I wouldn’t have been a tailor now if I had lived an honest life. I could have gone through humiliation and torture but I could be what I have always wanted to be; a doctor. So please be careful with those things. It is ears mouths speak into, words cannot be lifted into opened minds. No matter how good the advice, the ears or communication is the pathway. So he who has ears, let him hear my advice, and he who knows the essence of communication, let him heed. take care.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


I’ll say my confession

Hoping for an absolution

And a subsequent redemption or salvation.

I could perform an ablution

If that can stop my obsession

Or I could subject myself to gyration

As an anointed wheel me in his direction

I am in a sinful generation

Correction is nothing but disruption

I’ve gone from fabrication to deception

To defamation, to many a ‘dastardation’.

I am debauched by decadence and have no admiration

Now I’m turning malignant, promising many a horrid mutations

This is my confession

I hear your silence causing tension

In my heart, you’re a human mansion

Of secrets, with your permission

I’ll like to leave you to some consultations

With your boss and come after your meditation

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


I am half baked bread

Not edible nor a throw away

I have been tutored to call the name of the resurrected

When my woes open their mouths to consume me

Or call for the parents of my grandparents

Who have turned gods on another planet

To come to my rescue

The former being alien, the latter being my heritage


I am half baked bread

In the land of no oven

The eyes of dead protectors battle a resurrected traveller above

In their quest to protect me

Confusing me with the potency of both

I have been told they are of one father from different mothers.

With this enmity between elephants,

Who has time to protect the grass?



I am half baked bread

Not edible and not a throw away

My mind sits like a vehicle in a dilemma

Watching the commotion,

Watching the road

Not knowing whether to move by myself

Or wait for both masters to finish their war

To be a trophy for the winner


Must there always be a war to take over my head?

I am half baked

Can’t their father, who is known to own my planet

And the sky I see

Miraculously fully bake me

Or turn me flour?

I am tired of the commotion

Of both to win my generation

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


This poem is about the Christian/Islamic and traditional religion. The persona is at a crossroad, not knowing which to choose. The former is from other lands and the latter from the persona’s land (the persona probably an African or from a fetish area) but they battle among themselves instead of trying to solve the persona’s problems. The persona on the other hand has been told they all share one father who is God. He/she wonders why God watches without acting.

  (Artwork taken from 



Hearts must have their decisions

Yours is to lay bare and not to force

Religious zealots!


Heads must have their decisions

Yours is to lay bare and not to cajole

Education zealots!


People must decide

Yours is to candidly lay bare your capabilities

Political zealots!


All zealots, bow in shame

A time will come and you’ll be tame’

For hearts to befriend heads without shame,

The way you came

You must go same.

     Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.



The edible maggots form from the palm nut tree

They come out, wiggle and know they are free

They worship their maker, promising their piousness and their love

Promising their souls and bodies as they look above

Then they touch the ground and eat their god


They wiggle around the home without measure

Eating everything the palm tree treasure

They fight for the food of the other

Forgetting it belongs to neither

Then they lift their eyes to their heaven, and bow.


Palm nut lie decomposing

His creatures fighting for posing

He calls out to them to come to their senses

But all they do is kill even with their natural lenses

Then one of them thinks to write a regulatory book


There was a rush for the book to be booked

After they saw their writer being cooked

They read to live in the teachings of the book

As many others add their versions to get them hooked

They always read the book after they are satisfied with sin


One suggests that they do fast

Because food eventually takes them to dust

They agree to wear their whites

And abstain from all their sinly rights

Only to end and go to the dirt like pigs


Edible maggots why art thou so?

Do you not know you will harsh eternity go?

Whatever it is you will be eaten

Hungry alien species, your taste will smitten

Why then do you live so?


Stop gathering as one

Only to disperse with bruise-like movies to darkness and the sun

Even if you escape mouths and live to the full

Your remains will be swallowed by the earth which will never be full

So live freely and do as you wish, than hypocritically holding on to books under heinous crimes.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


The headache has become a brain tumour.

Now it shows.

I see, and you see

Great abysmal monks in an abbot of a bush

Effortfully breaking rules, adopting girls for pleasure

Reeking of self-loath and awakening poignant fears

In wombs and abdomens of earthly human makers

All in the name of faith and selfish desires.

Could it be Chinua Achebe foresaw?

“Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold”

Yes, things are falling apart

And the centre’s hands have been severed.

How can beings take lives of fellow beings without knowing how to form human blood?

How can faith force one to impose his ideals on the other?

Are some people created with two or more brains?

What makes them think theirs are superior?

Hiding and insulting

Hiding and warning

Bombing and blasting

Training and abducting

More bombings and warnings

We want none of these

Brave men hide not!

Egalitarianism is what we crave for

When will God, in whose name many of these atrocities are caused

Open His mouth?

When will He verify what He made His prophets write?

When will He let us know what is good and what is bad?

Seeing as we have lost all reasoning.

When will reasoning dawn on disgruntled worshippers

That this world belongs not to them?

You can throw the world away

If you fit not

Lose your soul instead of taking souls you cannot account for

The world will be a better place without killers

Even children know that

I might sound bitter

But desperation forces words out of dull mouths

Please let the world be.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.




If only I could fly

I would go high, high, high

And never come nigh

This world of agony. I sigh,

Trying so hard to make my heart mine

But my control seems not to be fine.


If only I could fly

There are many things I will not buy.

I will smile at the moon and sun who greet me, hi

And will care less if anyone says fie,

I will not bother to lie

And I definitely will not mind to die.


If only I could fly,

I would hang in the sky

And watch those whose lives in perfection tie.

I would go beyond the sky

And see how God judges; on a couch, a mat or on the sky ground pry

So I could stop the doubt and sincerely cry

In arms of prayers without forceful lies


If only I could fly

If only I have wings to fly

If only I was born ‘wingful’ to fly

Life would be so much easier.

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.




Can I press out what is pressing me and make them straight?


By following the path-makers and prompting when their paths are crooked?

Am I assured all will be taken in good faith?

Am I assured of my head on my body after I voice all out?

Am I assured?

So I and my likes have been given a day

Can I talk about religions which murder in the name of saints?

Can I ask their overseers to get an interpreter for all to be clear and to stop losing precious lives?

Just answer, can I ask them to create just a simple goat and give it breath to replace the many lost?

Can I ask Politicians to account for every little money they and their families gain while in power?

Can I lambast the elderly in the society for talking about unnecessary things when the country is plagued by famine and even urinating is taxed?

Can I for the love of God ask the future of those on the streets as I pay my taxes?

Can I defend armed robbers considering the hardship of the economy?

Please define the day!

Define this day when mouths are still closed on many topics

When my blood alone cannot atone for the fury of some men by voicing the unvoiceable

When society backs them in their ruthless desire to be unchallenged

When the heat of the day has an unfathomable explanation and the stomach churns and complains in need

Define the day

Please define the day

And let us ride on knowing it is there in name

But not in deed.

 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?