Turning and turning in the shaking trotro The mate cannot hear the passengers Coins fall apart; the polythene bag cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the driver. The blood-stained abuse is loosed, and everywhere The innocence of the driver’s mother is drowned; The insults lack conviction, while the worst of the passengers Are full of passionate nkwasiasem Surely some soldier is at hand; Surely … Continue reading The Metallic Coffin – Inspired by W.B. Yeats’ “The Second Coming”
She sits by the roadside – a mixture of calm and confusion. Madness becomes her. On her rock she sits, crossed- legged. Her clothes, a myriad of silhouettes. The light plays a number on her. A revelation here, skin there. Exposed? Yes! Barely? Yes! She sits on her rock smoking her cigarette – a mixture of calm and confusion She is mad. For as she … Continue reading MADNESS – Not Poetry; A Narrative.
It was dark, very dark. Pitch dark heaviness- you could feel it; almost cut through it. He crawled on the floor so he could feel his entire surroundings with every extension of his body. He heard footsteps from a distance. His heart raced. “It’s in a distance.” He thought to himself. His heart still raced. He tried hard to remain dead silent, even controlled his … Continue reading Dark Room.
This is not going to be one of my well scripted and edited pieces I usually put out there. It is just going to be an outpour of my mind and emotions. I doubt I am going to publicise it. If you happen to chance on this then kudos to you. You are a staunch follower of this blog. Before I start this I want … Continue reading I am Sad but I am Happy – Drama be gone!
As I lay my head to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Poetry is not dead. They said. Why should I waste my time then? To dive deep into my sea-of-thoughts And row my words to the shore of human intellect. Adding up long winded nonsense of grammatical word play. To what end? So you think – Poetry is not dead? Poetry … Continue reading Poetry Is Not Dead.
After the game, the King and pawn go into the same box. (Italian proverb) Abena walked past the porridge seller right in front of the only Ecobank bank in the Dansoman area. You would think the loud thumping of Daddy Lumba’s Abin Woha seeping through the vulcanizing shop down the bank’s road would distract her. At the very least, stop her from the continuous repetition … Continue reading Would You?
…David Nyame!! We thank you for this mountainous edifice of food prepared by our very own in-house Chef, Kwabena Poison – The best Chef inside Dansoman. Dear God, we ask you to bless the farmer, the cooker and the eater! May3 fu nsh3 ma mpenpenso). (With one eye open) Ah the Holy Spirit has seized me, anuanom ne adofonom lets begin to speak in tongues … Continue reading Finding Fusena
“If you go away on a summer’s day You might as well take the sun away” Words I recount as I sit at bay Wondering, how her memory still fills this day It was just yesterday that we swung and swayed Now 3 years past, since you went back to Clay. How life and death cheated us without play Now you have left us on … Continue reading An Ode to Her Memory
He heard a loud shriek down below Down, down, down below Was that normal, was it normal? Slowly he got off the bed, took one more glance At his people. Then came the dreaded walk down below Down, down, down below Each step and each stair – a creek, a shriek, a sneak… On he went “Pearls clutched” – his heart – a race … Continue reading The Staircase that leads Down Below.
THE BARBER SHOP Characters Barber 1 – Master and kiosk owner Barber 2 Barber 3 Koku Segbefia – store cleaner and squatter Two old men Orange seller Random passers-by The scene is set in a barber shop (kiosk) in Taifa, a suburb in the Greater Accra Region of Ghana. Two old men play a game of cards right outside the kiosk. An orange … Continue reading THAT KIOSK