Writers are like doctors
Delicate in their line of duty
A little inky mistake can break souls
Destroy personalities and
Unleash wars fiercer than lions on nations

Writers are like operating doctors
Just a failed full stop can send many wise heads
In a needless chase of sleeplessness
Running after ghosts non-existent

Writers, like doctors
Need no harsh words before working
A tampered emotion can lead
To countless erosions of truth
Planting deceptions in minds

Writers like doctors need balance
A 360° mirror on all issues
To build facts in perfect frames
No docking for thrusts of favouritisms

There can be exceptions and oddities
Escapements, counting human fallibilities
But writers like doctors, need care
Care and caring to be fair
At all times
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © May 11 2019


What is good about me?
I am a pen
Who shines bright in sadness
Selling my pain
As traders sell their goods
With and without shame

What is so good about me?
I am a pen envied in happiness
Selling success as the sky gives rain
Standing far and untouchable
Receiving bullets of curses
From heard and unheard sources

What is good about me?
No matter what I am
I show my all
If I am a flower
I show my thorns like a priced soldier
My thorns show all blood sucked
Maring my beauty with cruelty
No matter the soap of clearance

What is good about me?
A chirpy hand in all stances
Gratifying the gracious
Satisfying the melancholic
A vulture around funerals
Carving beauties from pain
Always wearing the clothes of all
To feel the pinches and pleasures
Marking references where none sit
I am a bleeding rose
One whose colour is seen by the colours of seasons
What is good about me?
What is good about me?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c)1st August, 2016


I have gone beyond the fear of ginger and pepper

Its taunt of burning my rear

Through the vengeful fingers of my elders

And forming tears

With which brothers and friends used as fun

O I have blended with its road of hurt

I have also gone beyond the fear of canes
Many strokes for a bad deed
More strokes for sluggishness
Marking and scarring to remind for years
Its haunts for run
Have been eased by years
It can do it all but cause me no fears

I have also jumped the tall windows of insults
Having them walk, jump, run
Out of mouths of beloveds to blow me
Like a boxer on cocaine
This body has developed its resistance
So needs no assistance

It was a hurtful blessing
Growing as a breeding Ghanaian seed
In the archaic time
When children shadowed the old
So I have gone passed the okro slime of pain
And stand fearless
Know your opponent
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016



What is a writer without self?

A writer needs eyes

A writer  needs ears

A writer needs a mouth

To ask to know

A writer needs legs

A writer needs a heart

Hands can be borrowed

But trusted hands are needed

Like the ladle in a porridge on fire

A writer is the centre

Of goodness and doom

So the writer writes from self

Even if the characters are borrowed

For stepping in shoes

Is better than a shoe stepping description

A writer without self is like a phantom who can never live

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015