LOSING FAMILY

Picture Courtesy www.thewe.cc


Losing family
Obliges us to find family,
Not always the family that is
Our blood
But rather the family that
Can become our blood.


Should we have the
Courage to open our
Hearts to this new family,
We would find that all the
Things about those loved ones
That endeared them to us
All these years are much
Closer to us than we think.


In the eyes of a total
Stranger we could find
The inspiration of a sister
Long lost.


In the embrace of a
Neighbour,
We could rediscover
The warmth of a father
Or aunt who's passed on.


In the laughter of a man
In the street,
We could find the tears of
Joy that a cousin once brought
Whenever he came
Home from school.


We never really lose family,
If only we can open our
Hearts long enough,
We’d realise
That though we’ve lost
Loved ones along the away,
We still are surrounded by loved
Ones till this very day.


Blood does not separate us,
It is only proof that we’re
Still alive,
We never really lose family,
We gain family,
Loved ones lost are irreplaceable,
Yet we should never feel all alone,
For we’re never alone,
Let us find family
For we are family.


Inspired by the movie “FINDING FORRESTER” starring Sean Connery and Matt Damon

INNOCENCE OF CHILDHOOD

Picture Courtesy www.lifeunwinded.blogspot.com


The playground,
An Entire world,
Ethnicity and colour
Had no meaning here.


Times when
A promise meant two
Pinkies nodding in agreement,
Formal documentation
Were pinky promises.


Grudges arose by the second
Yet they went away
By half of a second,
Oh how innocent.


Times when
Lunchboxes were prized
Assets,
Contents boasting all one could
Ask for in a world.


Colouring books crayons
And pencils were perfect
Reasons for infantile crushes and
Misplaced heartbeats.


Those were the times when one
Got elected president without
Even having to grasp the
Queen’s language in its entirety,
New shoes and toys worked better than
Posters and campaign slogans.


Sadly,
We had to grow,
Trading our innocence at the stock
Markets of life for diseases such
Selfishness and greed all in the
Name of success and ambition.


Gone are days when
We were all friends because we
Played in a sandbox and run after butterflies.


Gone are days when we
Walked between darkness and daylight
Without having to plead our innocence.


Gone are days when toffees
Were spoken language and
The art of picking one’s nose
Was an acceptable way of life.


Today,
And everyday,
For the rest of our lives,
Forever,
We plead innocence
For we’ve forgotten the true
Meaning of innocence,
Only childhood understands innocence.

THE ESSENCE OF CHRISTMAS

Picture Courtesy www.blog.scuolaleonardo.com


Give thanks everyday,
I see no reason why you should not,
For whichever reasons you fail
At this all year long,
There’s no excuse if you fail give
Thanks on Christmas day,
Whether you believe in a Higher
Power or not,
Year’s gone full circle and you’re
Still here,
That’s reason enough to be thankful,
You can look up to the skies
Or kneel in a corner of your room,
Just say thank you,
For someone somewhere thinks
You’re still worth the air you breathe.


By all means,
Shower friends and family with gifts
But the ultimate act of love is that which
We give to strangers and those really in need.
Gifts are a nice way of showing care
But a handshake and a smile
A hug or a pat on the back
Call the street urchin into your home,
Sit by the vagrant underneath the tree
Give away your favourite shirt
Split your piggy bank in three and
Give one out of the three away,
Better still,
Give it all away if you can,
No one should go hungry on any day
How much more on Christmas day?
No one should feel alone on any day
How much more on Christmas day?
If someone does,
It only means that
Someone somewhere is yet to grasp
The essence of Christmas.


So say a prayer,
No one cares how long
Just say it any way.
If you have nothing to say at all,
Borrow these words of mine
At 10 pounds per every mention,
I’ll come collecting,
Don’t think I won’t,
THANK YOU
Is that too difficult a mention?


Show love to one you’ve never met
Before,
A total stranger or those we notice only with our eyes.
Exchanging gifts among family and friends
Has become so mundane,
It’s a battered and bruised cliché,
Give the street urchin a bowl of soup
And a shirt to wear,
Give to those whom you’ve never
Bothered to think about or say at least
Good morning or hi to.


Christmas is all about
Appreciating what we’ve got regardless
How big or small,
And showing those whom we never really
Bothered to know
That we care even though we hardly show.
Christmas is no place for hypocrisy and lies
Be humble honest and feel the joy of Christmas.
Happy Holidays fam,
God bless you all.

THE HALF-REMEMBERED DREAM

Picture Courtesy www.yfa.awid.org


You continually haunt me like
Darkness on the heels of
A Sunset,
I’m in a trance
Tinged with annoyance.


Maybe someday
I’ll make sense of it all
And understand a message told
To me in a subconscious state,
Until then,
All I have are memories of
A half-remembered dream.

BLADES OF GRASS IN A BLUSH

Picture Courtesy www.eddard.com


The tall grass
Sway from side to side
Blushing within from that
Which remains unseen.


Nestled in between blades
Is love’s hut
Many journey here in twos
Away from prying eyes
And wagging tongues
Days lost frolicking
In the green.


In the late of night
Lovers long gone,
The tall grass whispers out
To half awake feathers and
The sleep walking wind,
Tales of that which remains unseen,
Tales of that which goes on within.

POSSIBLE

Picture Courtesy www.robmyers.org


You’re just a thought,
At least for now,
I have no idea where
You came from
But as long as you
Are up there in my head
You must be there for a reason.


I’ll fashion you into
Something far greater
Than just a thought.
I’ll carry you to term,
Could be days months
Or even years,
That notwithstanding
I think of you as possible.

EYES OF THE WIND

Picture Courtesy www.flickr.com


The wind sleepwalks
At night
Burdened by sightings
Of the eyes.


If only trees and eaves
Could speak
Or whistle at the very least,
A restless wind could find peace
In the still of the pitch of night.

ORDERED DISORDER

Picture Courtesy www.crimsonpines.new-forum.net


The sun stifles a yawn,
With rays of light
Shooting out of its mouth.


A dung beetle hurries along
On tiny legs cumbered
By a load twice its size.


Trees in tears,
Leaves in freefall,
They scurry into heaps
And lie still.


Up above,
A bald eagle circles
Waiting anxiously
For a morning meal.


The wind hums a tune
As it goes by
Waking sleepy leaves
Who shoo at it
Looking visibly annoyed.


Monkeys in a cacophony
In a bit to outdo
The feathered choir
Boasting talent from
Left to right.


A porcupine hides
In the thicket,
Quarreling with quills
While daydreaming of
A morning tan.


The slippery slitherer
Sweeps the floor
In camouflage and fatigues
With something sinister in a hiss.


Tea drinking termites
Peacocks at the featherstylist’s
Baboons frolicking in hammocks,
It’s utter madness to the untrained eye
Yet even with everything looking
So out of order
And everyone else looking out of place
There remains a perfect order
To this disorder,
Look closely,
You’ll find it all in order.

SUMMATIONS OF YESTERDAY

Picture courtesy www.jayisgames.com


Yesterday gives birth to today,
Like a fairytale,
It never dies,
It grows with each passing day.


We pick fruits off trees today,
Trees that sprung from
Seeds sown yesterday,
Today,
It’s all about yesterday.


Don’t walk blind
Calling it a new day,
A new dawn,
A new beginning.


Change springs from yesterday,
You can only reap from
Fields sown today,
When today becomes yesterday.


Whatever you’ve become today,
Don’t think it fate,
Look at yesterday,
Nothing happens by chance,
It’s all in yesterday.


We’ve always had it coming,
Yesterday’s choices and decisions
Come alive today,
We began yesterday,
We’re the summations of our yesterdays.

BEAUTIFUL MESS

Picture Courtesy www.ponygirlpictures.blogspot.com


Sit behind a table,
Dig into a meal
With your hands,
Get lost in the leaps
And plunges of your taste buds
Corrupted by the indescribable
End up with stains on
Your favourite shirt.


Walk in the sun
With an entourage of gold plated rays,
When accosted by an errant rain,
Dance in between those droplets of rain
With neither umbrella nor a coat,
Skip through the mud and puddles
In your new shoes
Pretending you’re far from a mess.


Black
White
Shades of grey
Such is life
Frowns and smiles,
So give it time,
Unpredictable,
That’s perfect life,
Life is a beautiful mess.

KANESHIE 'TROTRO'

Picture courtesy www.facebook.com


An odd-looking beast
Adorned in peeling paint.


Rusty from head to toe,
Tyres so worn one can barely see threads.

Grief stricken engine
Nursing chronic stomach upset.


Doors threatening to spring
Loose after every leap and plunge.


Rickety’s a compliment here,
Only goodness knows the state of the brakes.

Dashboard screams of a
Carpenter and plywood.


Clumsy as can be,
Steering wheel turns in degrees of
Two perfect 360s.


Driver’s mate trolls the aisle
Blending perfectly with the interior décor
Of rust, dust and excited rubbish begging
The passing wind for a lift.


Seats so comfortable
You’d prefer standing on your own two feet,
If only you can stomach an embarrassing fall.


Backrests so unruly,
Only the brave dare lean back.


Windows with chipped gold teeth
No wonder the wind circles instead of come in.


It’s an oven on wheels,
Passengers be warned,
Bathing suits and beach towels only,
Suits beware,
This is the land of the brave.


Buttocks perch perilously
On the lookout for illegal immigrants among
The 100 year old cushions.


Passengers silently praying
A breakdown occurs only after they’ve alighted.


Circle to Kaneshie,
That’s the route,
25 pesewas per head,
Take a seat,
Tuck your hands in between your
Thighs,
Keep hoping when the bus comes to a stop,
It’s either at a bus stop or the final stop,
Because there’s nothing like enjoying the scenery
On this bus,
All you hear is the driver’s mate shouting
Kaneshie!!!! Kaneshie!!! Kaneshie!!!!
Trying his utmost best to outdo
A rather vocal engine in the twilight of a career.


Curious?
Just visit Nkrumah Circle lorry station,
Ask of the spacebus,
They only ply the Cirle - Kaneshie route,
No tickets and discounts on this ride
Just a journey through time
With your life flashing before your eyes.

IT HAPPENED TOMORROW

Picture courtesy www.allaboutjazz.com


I stared into the eyes
Of tomorrow yet to come.
Vultures and birds of
Prey ruled the skies
Picking the weak and
Vulnerable off at a whim.


I walked the streets
Of tomorrow filled with
Unease
As blood soiled the ground
In trickles off my feet.
Market stalls stocked
With human meat in broad day,
Blood the only currency
Exchanging hands.


I woke this morning
Paralyzed with fear,
At a loss as to what I
Had just seen in sleep,
I stepped outside
Looking to clear my head,
My face fell,
At what I saw,
Heart in hand
I stood there paralyzed.
Tomorrow had become today.

SOMETIMES UP IS DOWN

Picture courtesy www.plastictoyplanet.com


Sometimes the sun
Rises in the west
And sets in the east.


Sometimes two left
Shoes fit perfectly
On both feet.


Sometimes you have to
Be upside down
In order to see
In a better light.


Sometimes you have to
Walk backwards in order
To move forward.


It happens sometimes
Just be a good sport,
Whichever hand you’re dealt
Don’t whine and grumble
Just play that hand,
Life doesn't always make sense,
Sometimes up is down.

PINS AND NEEDLES IN MY EYES

Picture courtesy www.commons.wikimedia.org


If you shed enough tears
You can drown on land.
Looking to trade places,
Can someone show me how?
Only the dead mourn the dead,
I now understand how,
Mourn me now
Because I just died.
Who listens to prayers?
I doubt he heard mine.
Pins and needles
I’m bleeding at the eyes,
If wishes were horses,
You’d be worth all of mine.
No such thing as goodbyes
This is not mine.
Forget metaphors and rhyme,
Just picking
Pins and needles out my eyes.


Tears,
That’s so cliché right now,
You just couldn’t wait
For me to blow up,
Had to leave me
Halfway through,
You’re above ground now,
It never was your time
But who am I to say?
This much I do know,
The Lord’s house is a better place,
Sad you’re gone,
Worst day of my life,
9 days into December
Year 2010.


Planned your wedding,
Yet I never showed,
School was in session,
Couldn’t hit the road,
I know that hurt you real bad,
Hope you did forgive me,
Never forgiven myself
Till this very day,
Ten years straight
We ate from the same plate
Everyday,
Food never tasted the same
Without your hand in it,
Thick as thieves,
Wherever you were @
That’s where I was @,
Sad you’re gone,
Worst day of my life,
9 days into December
Year 2010.


You were
Unwell a while before,
But things were looking up,
28th day of November
You fell off your seat in church,
Saw you a week later,
Could hardly look,
So far gone you
Couldn’t even say a word.
Only goodness knows if you
Even heard my voice while you lay
There on your hospital bed,
Can’t shake that image of you,
It haunts me everyday,
You were larger than life,
Never-say-die attitude,
Learnt that from you,
Sad you’re gone,
Worst day of my life,
9 days into December
Year 2010.


Close to 15 uncles I got
But in my mind
I had only one and
That was you,
Peeps always thought us brothers,
Some even thought us best mates,
I sit here nursing a headache
My eyes bloodshot
With acid running through my veins,
I keep asking myself this question,
What is the point?
After all,
We all die,
I feel we’re all walking blind,
But who am I to say,
Lord knows best,
I’m just a puppet walking
This earth,
Just waiting for my show to end,
Till that day
When He cuts my strings,
W)fa nante yie
Damirifa due
Due
W)fa damirifa due,
I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat,
That’s how much you mean to me,
Sad you’re gone,
Worst day of my life,
9 days into December
Year 2010.

A SOUL FOR SALE

Picture Courtesy www.atlantaintownpaper.com


The gong beat
In town square,
Markets,
And common areas,
Crowds gathered to an unusual sight,
Free bread and drink
For all who bothered,
A new beginning,
That’s what they were told,
A precursor to better things,
Said they brought rain,
Asked that all till the land,
For the bumper harvest did await.


Multitudes,
Swayed by drink,
Bread
And colourful pictures
Painted of tomorrow,
Sold their souls,
Inebriated,
And toasting tomorrow.


Not all did buy into the better tomorrow,
Holding out,
Not for want of a better price,
They found these tales
Farfetched
And pretty difficult to follow.
Climbing atop mountain peaks,
They identified with higher ground,
For fear of getting washed away,
In the swirling tide.


With nothing more than bags of yellow corn,
And pitchers of water,
They waited out the storm,
After months of eating so much corn,
They began turning yellow,
A few fell off into the yawning tide below,
Slowly their numbers did dwindle,
Till no more than a handful did remain.


One morning,
The cock did crow,
They woke to nothing more
Than a handful of corn
And empty earthen pitchers.
One after the other,
They descended onto the lonely streets below,
Strewn with bodies
Of brothers missing souls,
With empty eye sockets
Housing spiders and dirt in droves.


Thirsty
Hungry
Wearing their skins
Like rubber suits
They carried signs, of which some read,
“My soul for a loaf of bread”,
“What can I get? Just give me a price.”
“Unfair trade, but I’m willing to trade”,
“A little something and I’ll be on my way”.


Decay,
It affects us all,
One way or the other,
We all do fall,
Others much quicker,
But in the end,
We all do fall,
People always pay
When the weak wield the reigns,
Weakness always walks in confused and indecisive
With a long line of people in pain closely behind,


A soul for sale,
Anyone?
Going once
Going twice,
This is the hundredth call,
Just name your price,
We’re reduced to clear.

TUNES OF A GRAVEYARD TRIO

Picture Courtesy www.sbjventures.com


The footfalls of yesterday
Retreat into the wilderness
Echoing silently
In the distance,
Ushering in today.


Today struts in,
Footsteps resonating
Across the cobblestones,
In tandem with the gradually
Fading light,
Twenty four hours
On a slow march into the night,
Bidding tomorrow goodbye.


Tomorrow floats in
Gracefully,
Pirouetting in ballet shoes,
But with each breath you take,
Tomorrow’s whispering soft
Goodbyes,
Echoes of those goodbyes
Beat silently in your breast.


Yesterday
Today
Tomorrow
A terrible trio,
Stringing us along,
With tunes from within the grave.

BUTTERFLY

Picture Courtesy www.wildwisconsinweb.com


Listen,
Be quiet,
Listen to the story,
Hush your mouth,
It’s a rags to riches story.


A pair,
Dancing to a tune,
One of their choosing,
Listen and watch,
Beating wings
Intricate movements,
It’s two butterflies in a waltz,
A price is paid
The piper for a tune afforded
The two,
An egg is given onto nature
A price so fair.


Days pass,
The two butterflies long gone,
An egg is left in tears,
Torn to pieces,
Another’s journey begins,
Undulating,
Sluggish,
On legs so many,
At a pace so boring,
Looking so sorry,
Vulnerable,
Listen to the caterpillar’s story.


A prison,
A home,
A tomb,
Perched innocuously
On a tree,
Watch,
Be amazed,
Listen,
Be patient,
Life beats in the chest
Of one deep in sleep,
Listen to the story of a cocoon.


The breaking of a shell
Births life and understanding,
A journey comes to an end,
Another’s begins,
A cocoon gives way to
Wings in air,
From rags to riches,
Those who crawl can fly,
Only time tells,
Listen to the story of the butterfly.


Eggs and butterflies,
Darkness and light,
Life poses questions,
Answers abound,
There are no questions
Without answers,
Just look to the butterfly,
All of life is summed up
In the journey of a butterfly.

CARNEVALE

Picture Courtesy www.armchair-fan.webs.com


Nothing more than
A game of musical chairs,
A confused and frenetic
State of affairs,
With different costumes
And speeches paraded every time,
Either way,
Someone always gets the nod,
Some better than others,
Others stink so badly
You'd think you were in a fish market.
The carnival always comes to town,
Never late,
Always on time,
Just tick off your calendars,
On the last month of the fourth year,
They always come to town.


In no time they pack up the circus,
Show’s over,
Briefcases and colourful ties
Take the places of puppets
Clowns and charlatans,
With hoodwinked
Thumbs reeking of stale ink,
Fingernails basking in
The afterglow of indelible ink,
Grappling with four long years
Riddled with questions, no answers
Just an abundance of tricks and gimmicks
With a buffet in economic jargon
And overcooked tales.


The circus soon comes to town,
My math may be wrong,
But I’m confident nonetheless,
Keep an eye out when
The 24th month comes,
You’ll see people waiting in lines
Just so they can have their turn
Soiling fingers with ink while
Painting pieces of paper with pictures on them,
Grumbling four years after,
Only to go wait in line when the
Circus comes to town again
Four years later,
Carnevale,
Welcome to the carnival.

DREAMS OF A RIVER

Picture Courtesy www.m.modernghana.com


I am witness
To the savagery
And uncouth ways of man.


He brushes after every meal,
Washes down twice each day
With soap,
Squeaky clean,
He walks through life
On streets with shoulder pads
Made of concrete,
Gracefully entombing
All manner of filth,
Preaching out loud,
KEEP THE CITY CLEAN!!!!!!!


I am witness
To the hypocrisy and
Selfish nature of man.


He does as suits him,
Thinking of only today,
Looking for a quick buck to make,
Blind as a bat,
Yet he floats about on the wings
Of knowledge he has acquired,
Knowledge which sits idle in his thick skull
Collecting dust while clad in cobwebs
And bird droppings.


I am witness to the waywardness of man,
For I live with men,
Over the years,
He has shoved all manner of
Garbage down my throat
For I’m good at hiding things,
But today,
I lie desolate
Overwhelmed and overworked,
Abused to such an extent that
I have become a lethargic mass of
Putrid waste.


Be my witnesses today,
For I’m now arthritic
Cancerous and terminal,
Fading away before my time,
My demise glossed over,
No longer shocking,
Today,
Tomorrow remains the dream of a river.


If you happen see tomorrow,
Please,
Tell him about me,
Please tell tomorrow of the real Odaw river,
Not of the sorry mess I am today,
So sorry,
You walk past me hurriedly everyday
With your noses pinched
As though suppressing an urge to sneeze,
Please,
I implore you,
Tell tomorrow about me.

YOU’RE JUST A PAIN

Picture Courtesy www.1to10reviews.wordpress.com


Uninvited
Yet unperturbed,
You just walk in
With an air of importance,
Rude,
That’s what you are.


You take centre stage,
Never earning it,
Pushing my buttons
Like a five year old,
Full of demands,
Always having your way,
You’re an unmitigated pain.


You leave me squinting
As though I were staring at the
Insides of the sun at 12pm,
Bringing traffic to a standstill
As though life revolves around you.


You’re beyond reason,
A menace coupled with
An abundance of bad timing,
No different from a junkie,
Always looking to get a fix.


Excuse me,
Don’t mean to be a bother,
Can I please get an aspirin?
This headache’s killing me.

LIFE THROUGH THE EYES OF A SHOE

Picture Courtesy www.ysl.com


If life were a shoe,
I’d try it on several times
Till I found a perfect fit.


If life were a shoe,
I’d never nurse a broken heart
I would just change shoes.


If life were a shoe,
I’d never make mistakes,
Redoes would be a stuff of nightmares
Not dreams.


If life were a shoe
I’d ace all my tests
Have enough degrees and accolades
To blot out the sun.


If life were a shoe,
I’d lace it in different patterns
Every time
Doing as I wish without the
Least bit of consequence.


If only life were a shoe,
But it is no shoe,
It’s a mass of quick drying cement
That gives you just enough time
To bend it to your will.

BRIDGES SOMETIMES HURT YOU

Picture Courtesy: www.htmlhelp.com


Imagine descending into the depths a valley,
Just to get to the other side,
Swinging on the vines of a tree,
Just so you can get to the other side.


You probably might trip on some rocks
Down in that valley,
Maybe sprain an ankle,
Then again you just might bump into a tree,
Swinging rather carelessly on those vines,
But there are stories in doing those.


They sit there and wait,
Laughing at you as you walk across bridges in life,
There are no stories walking across a bridge,
Everyone can walk across a bridge,
So sometimes,
Whenever you can,
Please avoid the bridges,
Pretend there’s none there,
Try finding your way,
Goldmines are discovered this way,
There’s more to life
Than looking for the easy way out,
Not always but sometimes
Bridges end up doing us more harm than good.

GROWING PAINS

Picture Courtesy www.vivioworld.com


Crawling,
That was my beginning,
Now I walk,
I even run,
Oh time,
Absolutely magic.


Incoherent,
That was me,
Gibberish,
Universal language of toddlers,
Now I speak,
And it makes sense,
Oh time,
You are full of tricks.


I sleep
I wake
The days ferment
My hairline slowly fades,
Strands of black hair
Reduce to ashen grey,
Oh time
You bloody thief.


A bottle of black dye
Paint brush in hand,
Colouring grey hairs
Black as soot,
My joints ache
And I walk with a stick,
If only I could colour those too,
Oh time
You despicable time.

THE CITY

Picture Courtesy www.istockphoto.com


A mass of concrete and steel
A sea of tap, bottled and sachet water
Wires straddling the air
Juiced with electricity
Asphalt blanketing the face of the earth
Conducting a symphony
Tooting horns
Exhaust fumes
Burning rubber and
Traffic jams in attendance.


Communities
So far from close-knit,
Neighbourhoods
With nothing neighbourly
Just people exchanging
Good mornings
Hellos and his,
Avoiding prying eyes.


Lost strangers
Marching through foreign land
Hiding behind walls
And tall gates
Others calling kiosks
Street corners and
Open spaces home,
With bruising fragrances
From choked drains and
Decomposing garbage
Wafting through turned up noses
Taking offence,
That is the city.

SHADOWS AND MOONLIGHT

Picture Courtesy www.stumbleupon.com


She came like a rifle,
Sleek and slender,
Pinpoint
Pristine
Carried easy like moonlight.


Pace of a bullet,
Clap the sound,
Settling smoke
My temple sore
From recoil,
Gone,
Like shadows in darkness,
Never saw her again.

WE ALL RUN OUT OF TIME

Picture Courtesy www.geekologie.com


There we sat,
Myself and time
Behind balls of kenkey
Fried fish and hot pepper.


Dripping noses
Burning faces
Tongues protesting,
We ate as though
The meal our last.


Halfway through,
I lifted up my head,
Only to find time
Fast asleep.


Hours
Minutes
Seconds
Intoxicated by fermented corn,
Dead still,
Had become time.


I rose to go tell the world,
Finally!!!!
We have all the time,
Do not make hay,
The sun does shine forever,
Fret not,
Time and tide does wait upon man.


I never made it,
Fell face down
After five steps,
Then it dawned on me,
Fermented corn does intoxicate time,
It does man too,
None really can bewitch time,
In the end,
We all run out of time.

THESE HANDS

Picture Courtesy www.clipartof.com


These hands,
Nothing special about them,
Everyone’s got them.


They’re all the same really,
Some longer than others,
Some hairier than others,
But they all end in ten fingers.


These hands,
Pretty ordinary,
Till we begin to use them
In ways extraordinary.


Hands in tune with life,
Those make a remarkable surgeon,
Hands with a deep understanding of
Butter sugar and optimum temperature,
Those make a seasoned baker.


These hands can mend and create,
What these hands create
Belong to us,
We are our hands,
We are what we make of them,
These hands.

THE JOY IN POTHOLES

Picture Courtesy www.localnewsqueen.com


I hate potholes,
They slow down progress,
And turn simple journeys into nightmares,
Especially when you have no shock-absorbers,
Trust me,
I’ve been there before.

But in the leaps and plunges,
As we run along those annoying potholes,
Light bulbs go off in our heads,
We always come up with something,
Not necessarily new,
But in those crazy moments
In between our leaps and plunges,
If we bounce just quietly enough,
Manage enjoy the discomfort potholes bring,
We just might find comfort in them,
In the form of a crazy idea,
A solution to a puzzle,
Or just plain ordinary fun
That leaves us in smiles.

Once in a while,
Choose the potholes,
Do not swerve,
Intentionally fall into them,
Get sore,
Feel uncomfortable,
Bounce around,
Have your thoughts shuffled along the way,
When u finally get past those potholes,
You will find a light bulb in there,
For potholes have light bulbs in them,
Life’s greatest moments are found in potholes.

THE TOAD

Picture Courtesy: www.leapmobilefitness.com


I refuse to walk,
Make no mistake,
I shan’t crawl,
Neither will I run.


Babies crawl,
Athletes run,
Everybody else walks,
That is why I choose to hop.


Call me a toad,
Between crawling
Running or even walking,
I choose to hop,
Quite ridiculous,
Don’t you think?


I do not seek to be different,
There’s nothing wrong in being different anyway,
I only prefer doing things differently,
Venturing into a thicket,
Instead of staying on the foot path,
I emerge hours later,
Covered in cuts bruises and leaves,
But in the midst of it all,
Lie the lessons I have learnt,
Those are lessons you’ll never learn walking a footpath.


If only you knew,
While you aim at the ends of the earth,
Running walking and crawling,
In hopping,
I aim at the heavens,
Crashing down to earth every time,
But I still hop,
Everyday,
Dreaming of heaven even as
I fall back down to earth on each try.


So please,
Let me be,
Let me hop,
I find strength in your laughter,
Watching me hop,
I sure won’t stop,
Heaven sure does await,
Hop
Hop
Heaven’s my final stop.

IT HAPPENED A LONGTIME AGO

Picture Courtesy: www.ibiblio.org


Fish
Bread
And drink
A common feature,
Wherever he went.


Spoken word
In the form of
Parables
He gave out freely
Without even a charge.


What a guy,
How could you not
Have a soft spot for him?
Never proud,
Not one to boast,
Just a regular guy.


Turning water into wine,
Few loaves into basket loads,
He walked on water,
To the amazement of all.


Guess what?
At some point,
They hatched a plan,
Strung him up
Nailed him to a cross,
Between the choice of two,
To Pilate,
They shouted out loud,
Give us Barabbas instead.


Beware,
Please beware,
Their smiles and embraces
Are empty inside,
Hollow souls in perfect disguise,
So cunning
They just might be your demise,
Beware the humans,
Please beware.

THE BURNING LOG

Picture Courtesy: www.flickriver.com


Posters,
Supposedly posted by foot-soldiers,
Tea drinking thugs,
Sipping on entrails in free mugs.


The log slowly burns in the wind,
Leaving behind lives reduced to ash,
Lips,
Singed by hunger pangs,
Tongues,
Haunted by foul tasting ash,
Ears deaf drunk,
On empty promises
Riddled with senseless propaganda.


Two years
Pass by in tears,
Grief stricken years,
Two more to come,
At the edge of our seats
We sit in fear,
Trying times,
Difficult years,
Clock ticks and chimes,
Years in tears,
Cold and unforgiving years,
How does one find good in bleeding years?
How do you stay alive bleeding for four long years?

RANDOM THOUGHTS

Picture Courtesy: www.redbulls.theoffside.com


Let yourself go,
Let your heart flutter,
Emotional mathematics,
Pitter patter,
You a chemistry of emotions,
Sometimes it may cause you stutter,
Leaves you speechless,
Even a word you fail utter,
Out in the sun,
Yet you can’t help but shudder,
Body mind and soul
A total surrender,
Thinking about it
Makes your thoughts quiver
Reduces your breath
To nothing more than a whimper,
Leaves you so confused,
You begin whisper,
You’re in overdrive,
Beads of sweat on your forehead begin gather,
You try make sense of it all,
But sense becomes a misnomer,
There you stand naked,
Like a four leaf clover,
Stop looking for meaning
Go at it like a grasshopper,
It sure is unpredictable
Oft best to be yourself my brother,
Embrace it,
Just love one another,
In the end you realise,
1+1=2 is jibber jabber,
Final answer’s,
Way more than two my brother,
Mathematics?
This bit of mathematics maths has failed decipher,
Just be true to who you are,
You’ll find love wherever you are,
Don’t get me wrong,
Never easy as it sounds,
Then again,
Who told you life was easy?

LEAVE YOUR HUMANITY AT HOME

Picture Courtesy: www.reachingwithinfawn.blogspot.com


In the midst of hundreds,
There I was,
Human traffic
Ebbed and flowed.


He headed straight for me,
Neglected the one to my left
And the other to my right,
But I walked right past him as though blind.


I had no idea what he wanted from me,
Neither was I interested,
You might think me rude
For I just kept walking,
Couldn’t spare a moment to listen,
If only you knew what I know.


Out in the Central Business District of Accra,
If any stranger dares approach you,
Whether smartly dressed,
Or terribly dressed,
Act as though he or she were a disease.


Hurry up,
Double step,
Before you fall prey to a miscreant
Pickpocket or one much worse.


As long as you’re wearing a smile,
A shirt and shoes,
Probably with earpieces in your ear,
And you happen to be walking in town,
Remember this much,
All they see is a walking ATM,
So whenever leaving home for town,
Kindly leave your humanity at home,
You might end up very sorry if you
Happen to do the opposite.

OLDER BUT NOT OVER

Picture Courtesy: www.gawker.com


Days go by,
Months come and go,
We count the years,
We grow older.


Back when he was 18,
He could do the moonwalk,
Nonstop,
For a good 500 yards,
Barely breaking sweat,
He could probably run a marathon
There and then if he wanted to,
All could make out his six pack
Underneath the jersey he wore,
A bastion of health,
A fountain of youth.


Back when she was 18,
Walking on the sidewalk,
All would stop and stare,
It was as though she had been
Poured into the clothes she wore,
Every inch perfect,
Firm bosom,
Forget the pushup bra,
Flat tummy,
Curves perfectly positioned,
Hips swaying from side to side,
Rise and fall,
Wave after wave,
Lulls you to sleep,
In perfect harmony and unison with the wind.
Almost as though she were a painting on a canvas.


Today,
He’s 70,
Can barely walk let alone dream of a sprint,
Sporting a one pack,
None would believe he ever had a six,
She’s sixty five,
Clothes hang loosely by her sides,
Barely elicits a stare,
As though she never was sweet sixteen,
Only time you stare’s when she trips and falls,
Old age,
It sure does come with the job.


Forever young,
How wrong,
No,
Far from wrong,
It is wrong,
That you think forever young
Wrong,
We are what we eat,
We do as we think,
We probably might fail do the moonwalk
Nonstop for a whole mile,
But what stops us from it for doing half a mile?
You can still elicit stares
While dressed decently even at sixty five,
That is true beauty,
It never ages.


All who are born,
Grow old,
But you can still be pretty at eighty
And do pushups at age seventy-five,
It’s all up to you,
Yes,
You may be older,
But it’s never over,
Not even by a long shot,
Stop,
Don’t pull over,
Show’s far from over,
Older but not over.

OUR TICKS

Picture Courtesy: www.computertrainingpattaya.com


There I stood,
Before an entire class,
I was almost fifteen back then,
All nerves,
Yet I stared the class down
As though I was about to charge at them,
Like a bull,
Looking all confident,
Only if they had known how nervous I was,
In my head,
All I kept saying was,
Oh boy, oh boy.
It got me through that uncomfortable day
In Agricultural science class,
It helped me tick.


One day,
I had to speak before an audience,
For some reason,
All I had prepared seem not to make sense to me,
I was so nervous I could feel my legs quiver,
When I mounted the stage,
I performed a trick,
All I did was fix my gaze at the top of the heads
Of all who sat in the audience,
In doing so I saw them as small,
I towered over them on that stage,
From that point onwards,
I was on a roll,
When I finally made eye contact with them,
I was on fire,
If I had jumped off a cliff that very moment,
I would have taken flight,
In making everyone else seem small,
I ticked,
Never froze.


In truth,
We all have our ticks,
Some bite on their fingernails,
Other hold a pen even when there’s no need for it,
Some pull on their noses as though nursing a cold,
Our ticks are a part of us,
Over time they change,
We fine-tune them unconsciously,
They serve us well,
Some may seem odder than others,
Others better disguised than others
But make no mistake about it,
We all have our ticks,
So unless you are a time bomb,
Please tick,
Feel comfortable in your own shoes,
Be yourself,
Let the world embrace you with all your odd ticks,
Should you lose your ticks,
You’d become nothing more than a mass of meat
Roaming the face of the earth on two feet,
So please,
Just tick,
It makes you special and pretty unique.

DREAMING OF YESTERDAY TODAY

Picture Courtesy: www.crossdaily.com


Wielding clubs,
Batons and all that they could find,
They stormed the castle,
In the broad of day,
Clad in red,
Chanting war songs.


Enough
Was enough,
They had to go,
Calling them oppressors and tyrants,
Probably rightly so.


Their so-called oppressors
Sure did leave,
Not even bothering to put up a fight,
They bid them farewell,
They went away.


Amidst shouts of joy,
They drank to their fill
Happy and gay,
Freedom had finally come their way,
Throughout the night,
Till the morning that came,
They exuded unimaginable joy.


The next day,
They threw out all reminders of
Their masters of yesterday,
Gathered them all in a heap,
Set them ablaze,
One after the other they gazed upon the flames
Looking on as smoke rose to the heavens above,
In catharsis,
They found warmth in a new day,
Dreaming of a better tomorrow that very day.


They installed their very own on the throne,
Painted the castle walls in colours of their own,
Thinking they had wrestled destiny,
From within the very jaws of tyranny,
Thoughts firmly set on tomorrow’s day,
Surely,
Tomorrow looks much better today.


They barely noticed the days pass away,
Drunk on dreams of a better tomorrow
Yet to become today,
Till one morning,
When they realized their pants no longer fit,
They slowly slipped past their waistlines
Like willful four and five year olds,
Shirts hang loosely by their sides,
Like Hula-Hoops twirling,
Around rhythmically swaying hips.


They rushed to the barns,
Only to find them empty,
They had been empty all along,
They had been running on empty all along,
In a fit of rage,
They rushed to the castle gates,
Only to find them locked and bolted both ways,
They beat those gates,
Like those talking drums,
As though festivities were days away,
But not even a soul bothered take a peek from
Behind those massive gates.


In desperation they cried out to their king,
And like any other king,
He did appear on a balcony above,
In a cape with an “S” on his chest,
Drumstick and wine in both hands,
He bidst them wait,
Saying he had called for rain,
Asked them leave for tomorrow
Would be a better day,
Apparently,
They had rudely interrupted his favourite
Soap opera Acapulco Bay.


Till this very day,
They seem stuck in today,
Tomorrow never seems to walk their way,
If only they could have tomorrow for just a day,
Surely they would find that a better day,
So much for driving the tyrants and oppressors away,
Never did they imagine,
Their very own would be their tyrants today.


They’d give anything to bring back
The so-called tyrants of yesterday,
In their time,
At least food and drink sure did come this way,
Today,
Their glasses sit empty,
They’d give anything to have them at least half full.


They tend the fields to little avail,
The little that grows,
They send to the castle gates,
Surely the king must have his fill,
Little remains to go round after that,
If only they could go back to yesterday,
Never in their wildest dreams had they
Imagined this today.


How sad,
They dream of yesterday today,
Goodness knows the dreams they dare
Have of tomorrow today,
What they called tyranny yesterday
They dream of having today,
So much for a better today,
They’d give anything today,
If only they could have yesterday today.

SEVERAL HUNDREDS OF YEARS AGO

Picture Courtesy: www.americainchains2009.wordpress.com


Several hundreds of years ago,
If I managed tether you to a tree,
I would then go on to trade you for
Cowries,
Pans or
A bottle of schnapp.


Several hundreds of years ago,
Men in groups,
They would raid villages,
Taking away with them,
Those they managed capture
As slaves.


Several hundreds of years ago,
Huge ships came ashore,
With them came strange looking men,
In search of other men,
To do their washing,
Cleaning,
Farming
And any other menial chores that came to mind,
We were more than happy to oblige.


Several hundreds of years ago,
A master’s chattel,
His slaves,
A measure of his wealth,
Slaves,
A commodity far precious,
Than salt and other mercantile goods.


Today,
The slave trade’s been long abolished,
The very act of slavery,
Frowned upon and declared abomination,
Yet,
Several hundreds of years ago,
The world endorsed the slave trade,
Several hundreds of years ago
Human beings traded off other human beings,
For as little as gunpowder and muskets.


So I ask today,
Where was our sense of right and wrong back then?
What really makes things right or wrong
In a human society?
Does society require an act be wrong only if fewer
People engage in it?
Does society endorse acts based solely on the
Numbers engaged in it?
Several hundreds of years of years ago,
Only heaven knows,
I just might have exchanged you for a glass of water.

HELLO!!!! IS ANYBODY THERE!!!!!

Desperate: People queue for water on the streets of Port-au-Prince, Haiti
Picture Courtesy: www.dailymail.co.uk


Cholera is now endemic,
Everyone’s catching it,
It’s like back in the 1970’s
When the world caught disco fever,
On every street corner,
Colourful wigs
Tights,
Dresses with sequins
And pumps were common.
Down here,
Ours is cholera,
But the last time I checked,
Cholera had a cure,
So why should we be dying of it?
It’s been 10 months now,
Everyday we shout out,
From dusk till dawn,
Calling out,
Hello!!!!!!
Is anybody there!!!!
All we hear in response,
Our own voices echoing back to us,
Is there anybody there!!!


Food has become a luxury,
It is no longer a basic necessity,
The children no longer play in the streets,
They are too hungry to try,
Best to reserve the little energy they have,
Three square meals seems like utopia here,
Can’t remember when I last had three meals in a day,
Last time I ate twice was when
An aid worker spilled a ladle of rice,
After I was done with mine,
I helped myself to the rice that lay on the bare floor,
That was the day I ate twice,
That was the first time in 10 months
I had eaten twice,
Hello!!!!!
Is anybody there!!!
Can you hear me?
I probably must be dialing a wrong number.


Potable water is a stuff of dreams,
That which runs through the gutters,
Pools in depressions
And runs through channels are hard to come by,
One cannot afford to be thirsty,
We no longer drink water because we’re thirsty,
We drink at specific times of the day,
That is if we come across something to drink,
We can no longer afford to shed tears,
After all,
That’s water going to waste,
So when we absolutely must cry,
This is how we choose to do it,
Cup your hands underneath your eyes,
Collect your tears in there,
And gulp it down
Like you do with a glass of water,
It’s been 10 months now,
We keep calling out,
Hello!!!!!
Is anybody there!!!


Children walk about,
On legs the size of broomsticks,
Ribs waiting to burst out
Into the sunlight from their sides,
Malnourished
And looking very sickly,
The elderly look no better either,
Anorexic ,
You might think we are,
If only you knew of our hunger pangs,
Nights spent in tents and open spaces,
Packed together like boxes in shipping containers,
The stench from sewage and decaying rubbish,
Has made us all loose our sense of smell,
How else can you live here?
If you have your sense of smell,
You’d most definitely die for no apparent reason,
Somebody tell me how fresh air smells like,
I haven’t the slightest of it now,
A total blur is fresh air,
It’s been 10 months now,
Hello!!!
Is anybody there!!!


I wish I could paint you a better picture,
A picture of a happier place,
One with children playing in the streets,
Schools open with classrooms teaming with kids,
Mothers and fathers raising families under roofs,
Without air-conditioning or ceiling fans,
But at least a semblance of dignity,
An abundance of food
With everyone having at least enough to eat,
Over two hundred have died from cholera in about a month,
If hybrid cars are no longer figments of our imagination,
Why should we be dying of cholera in the year 2010?
We have eyes,
Yet we cannot afford to cry,
Even that, has become too expensive,
Water sure will go waste should we choose to cry.
The children no longer laugh anymore,
They just might have forgotten how to play anymore,
Childhood has lost all meaning in these parts,
Sullen has become our clear skies,
With the aged praying they do not wake come tomorrow,
Even death seems a better option now,
Bleak has been our past months,
Dire has become our todays,
For tomorrow,
All we do is hope and pray,
Hello!!!
Is anybody there!!!


I do not wish to make you sad,
Neither is it my intention to make you cry,
But I felt this much I should share,
I walked the streets of Haiti last night,
And this is what I saw,
Where did all the humans go?
What happened to our shared humanity?
Someone please remind me,
I no longer know what it means to be human anymore,
The world needs to be human once more,
Hello!!!
Is anybody there!!!

OUT ON THE LEDGE

Picture Courtesy: www.public-domain-image.com


As if walking blind
Or feeling our way around
When it is pitch dark where we stand,
We all live our lives
Out on the ledge.


Like trapeze acrobats,
It takes very little,
For us to come hurtling down,
At least the acrobats have safety harnesses,
We only have our conscience,
Our only companion out on the ledge.


As we walk the tightrope of life,
We fail realise the simplest of things,
Come tomorrow,
We just might be in freefall
Or hanging on tight for dear life,
That is life out on the ledge.


Success and failure,
Sanity and insanity,
Sadness and happiness,
Lines between the above opposites,
Are so grey
So thinly veiled,
Boundaries so undefined,
We’re more often than not,
Left asking one question,
How best does one live life out on the ledge?
It takes surprisingly little to push us over the edge.

A WALK TO REMEMBER

Picture Courtesy: www.ukhumanrightsblog.com


The market chatted noisily,
Only goodness knows whom with,
Tooting horns,
Over a hundred cell phones
Ringing all at once,
Hawkers calling out to passers-by,
Quarrelsome vehicle engines
In screams at the top of their lungs,
Chirping birds and
People engaged in conversation,
All made for a huge helping of
An incessant cacophony.


Yet I could hear your measured steps
Behind mine,
As you tread gently on the cobblestones,
You had a pained look on your face,
For you were being scorched by the sun,
I fared a bit better than you,
For my attire was coloured white
While yours was black.
The stench emanating from the choked drains,
And slowly decaying heaps of rubbish
Standing at attention along the pavements
And saluting passers-by,
Made an unbearable situation
The much worse,
Yet not even once did you complain,
You are always there,
I am never alone.


Two weeks ago,
As we walked through the pouring rain,
I noticed you were in no hurry
And so I followed suit,
For your sake, I did tarry,
The rain drops felt soft
And left a tingling sensation as they rolled
Down my skin,
When I turned to look at you,
You barely noticed
For you were busy staring up at the clouds,
Probably you were saying a prayer,
Probably you were calling for more rain,
You cared less about your attire,
Neither did you care about getting your hair wet,
You looked so peaceful in the rain,
You were happy in the pouring rain,
You never leave my side,
You never have to this very day,
Rain or shine,
You’re always there.


Come day’s end,
As I lay down to sleep,
You do same,
By my side in your pajamas,
With bunny slippers waiting on
You at the foot of the bed,
Even when I wake in the middle,
Of the night to go pee,
You tag along,
I guess you enjoy being around me,
You have never left my side,
You are always there,
Every step I take,
Is a walk to remember,
For you’re always in toe,
Bringing me cheer,
Though you hardly say much,
Just seeing you there whenever
I look over my shoulders,
Tells me how much you care.


When morning comes,
The cock shall crow,
It is then that I shall rise,
And you with me,
Two perfectly in sync,
Like clocks and time,
There’s never one without the other,
One means none,
There’s none without the other,
You are more than a friend
But you’re not my brother,
Neither are you my sister,
Companions for life,
We came into this world together,
You are my shadow,
A walk with you is always one to remember,
Here’s to you,
My shadow.

I SHALL

Picture Courtesy: www. yorku.ca


I shall scale all my hurdles,
With the wind in my sails,
And if a hurdle happens fall,
I shall place that hurdle back up right,
I shall go back from whence I came,
And re-scale that hurdle over and over again,
Till I leave it standing upright,
Bathing behind me in the dust my feet throw up.


I shall not toot my horns,
I’m no good at puffing out my cheeks,
They always hurt each time I try,
Those horns shall toot themselves for me,
Till they begin gasp for air,
Wheezing as though having an asthma attack.


I shall stand atop all mountains in my way,
Looking ahead to others far out in the distance,
Yet sit as though I never heard of a high horse.


When in public,
I shall sit in the back row
As though quarreling with the high table that beckons,
I’ve always found them a tad too high anyway.


I shall sit in plain view
Conspicuous in the market place,
Not underneath an umbrella
But rather the mango tree,
I shall pluck those mangoes,
As though I were three,
Throwing stones at them as though we were at war.


I shall eat waakye neither from take-away packs
Nor plates,
But rather out of the broad
Green leaves shaped like the ears of an
Elephant like I used to when I was eight,
Those leaves sure make waakye taste great.


I shall walk barefoot in the grass,
Run after butterflies as though I were six,
Marvel at caterpillars as though I never met them before,
And wish a million times over and over again
For the ability to change colour like the chameleon,
Please do not ask why,
It is something I’ve wished for quite a while.


On those slow days,
When I’m all by myself,
I shall intentionally tie my shoelaces all wrong,
Taking pictures of them,
Just so I can laugh at them then and tomorrow,
As though I just saw something new.


I shall live like a leaf,
Naked,
Whispering to the birds and the wind,
Without the least hint of worry or care
In this world,
I shall neither be shackled nor cumbered by a load..


I shall be a tree in a forest reserve,
Surrounded by so much green,
I will be evergreen,
Even when I have long said
Goodbye to age sixteen.


I shall do all these and more,
For life neither knows a big man
Nor one who’s small,
The grim reaper does come for us all,
Whether big or small,
So as often as you can,
Make silly faces in the mirror,
And run after one another as though still two,
Just let out the child in you once in a while,
That’s the secret to living free
Even in the most trying of times,
Try it,
It will make you brand new.

LETTER TO A THREE YEAR OLD BOY

Picture Courtesy: www. aperfectworld.org


We met over twenty years ago,
Back when disco was in vogue
And it was a fever all the grown folk
Seemed to have caught somehow.
You had a fro,
Your curly hair,
Was black like that of a raven.


All you did was play in the sand,
Run after butterflies
Eat from dusk till dawn
And sleep whenever you wished.
It was all pretty routine for you back then,
Eat
Sleep and
Play all day long.

You do not quite remember me,
Do not pretend you do,
But I remember you very well,
I always watched you from afar,
If you had bothered look past the fence
And into the leaves of the mango tree,
You just might have seen me there,
Then again,
I just might have taken to my heels,
Had you ever done that.


I remember so many things about you,
You threw tantrums,
Never did as you were told,
Half the time,
You were either in trouble or fast asleep,
Never a dull moment with you around.


Of all the things you did back then,
I remember one vividly
Till this very day.
It was a sunny Monday morning,
You had your hair was combed neatly,
Shirt over a pair of black trousers
And your shoes were neatly laced and shiny.


I sat up there,
Wondering where you were off to,
Daddy and mummy sat in front,
You chose to sit behind,
For reasons best known to you
And they let you be,
For you threatened them with a tantrum,
Your mum buckled you in
And the car sped off,
I just followed like a cloud above.


After a long while,
Daddy brought the car to a stop
In front of a compound with swings,
Seesaws, a playing field
And a lot of buildings.
Mummy stepped out and took you along,
Daddy then left for work.

Your mum took your hand,
You both entered the compound,
She led you to a building,
It turned out to be an office of some sort,
There were three women seated behind a table,
Mummy exchanged pleasantries with them
And placed you in a seat positioned almost centrally,
Before them,
She then sat a bit further away from you,
You looked nervous
Kept looking in her direction
And begun rubbing your shoes against each other.
She kept signaling you to look at the three
Strangers seated behind the table.


When you eventually did,
They asked your name,
With all confidence,
You said,
Mr. Philip Ofori – Anom,
They all broke into laughter at that point,
Even mummy did,
They would have preferred you
Used the word master instead of mister,
After all,
You were only three years old back then.

Till this very day,
I’m yet to call myself anything other than,
Mr. Philip Ofori – Anom,
The very name you gave to those
Strangers you met in that room twenty years ago,
It was actually your interview for admission into school,
You aced it,
I’m sure you know that by now.


You came to mind today,
I just realized this much,
Over twenty years ago,
When you chose the word mister over master,
I’m yet to change mister to something else
I still go by mister today.
For that particular reason,
I write you this letter today,
I do know I have to change mister to something else,
For twenty years ago,
That was you,
I’m still on my way to doing that.


However,
I’ve left a lot of you behind,
I no longer pick my nose,
I’m less trouble now,
No more biting my finger nails,
I no longer wear a fro
And my hair’s slowly turning grey,
I’ve come a long way from when I was you.


I’ve done so many things,
Most of which I know you will be proud,
And quite a few you’d probably be
Wishing you had done back then,
I’m still on my way in this journey of ours,
You begun it so beautifully,
And I promise to end it spectacularly,
Such that you will applaud.


I won’t be mediocre,
Neither will I be supernova,
I’ll grace the stage for decades to come,
For in your time you shone like the sun,
Here’s my time,
I’ll be the moon and the sun,
24/7,
I’ll shine non-stop,
So please be patient,
I bidst you wait,
For the best of me is yet to come,
I’m not even half where I plan to be,
Go wait for me atop the mountain peak,
For there that is where I’ll take my rest,
There we’ll both sit,
Roasting marshmallows over the fire,
Throwing stones into the valley below,
And telling tales of our past,
Here’s my letter to you,
You were the three year old version of me,
Over twenty years ago.

MEN DO NOT CRY

Picture Courtesy: www.feedthechildren.org


Growing up,
Daddy told me this much,
Men do not cry son,
That’s not what men do,
They’re tough and strong,
He neglected add,
Men are human too
And crying is human too.
I happily subscribed to that doctrine
Till one fine morning,
When I happened to stroll rather foolishly on the
Wrong side of my class two teacher,
And she gladly straightened me out.


I was busy making a nuisance of myself
At the back of the class while she taught.
As she looked down her horn-rimmed glasses
In my direction,
I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand,
I tried averting her gaze,
But it was as though a vice held my head in place,
She called me to the front of the class,
Had me hunched over a desk,
And flogged the talkative out of me,
Though in pain from all that flogging,
There was a far more painful experience for me,
Daddy had told me this,
Men do not cry,
Yet there I was,
My willful eyes,
Threatening the age old doctrine of
Men do not cry with a sword,
While I looked on helpless,
It was as though my eyes had declared independence.


The walk from the front of the class
To my seat at the back proved the
Longest I have ever taken on my
Own two feet to this very day,
Walking rather gingerly,
I managed fight tears till I made it to my seat,
My only reason being,
The girl I fancied in the class,
Sat somewhere in the middle row,
In pigtails with rosy cheeks,
What message could I possibly send her
By crying in front of the entire class?


The very second my bum touched my seat,
I placed my head on the table as though in prayer,
I believe you all do know,
It’s pretty needless to say,
But I’ll say it anyway,
I cried my eyes out to the sound of
The voice of my class teacher teaching arithmetic,
Men did cry after all,
Though in a somewhat discrete manner.

TRUE MASTERPIECES OF NATURE

Picture Courtesy: www.brera.mi.astro.it


When I wore purple shoes last Friday,
I felt good about myself,
Sadly enough,
This feeling lasted the distance
Of my doorstep at home,
To the parking lot of my workplace,
No further than that.


I had barely made it to the entrance
When Kofi run towards me from the
Waakye seller’s selling area,
Wearing a look quite quizzical,
I thought his meal did not quite agree with him,
But before I could enquire,
The reason for his somewhat disapproving look,
He blurted out,
You look absolutely hideous in those shoes of yours.


I stood rooted to the spot,
No different from a totem pole,
Before you even begin think it,
I feel I should tell you this much,
I did not well up in tears.
I just stood there,
Staring,
At my shoes
As if expecting them to suddenly change colour,
Or at the very least,
Say something in our defense.
Those words of Kofi’s,
Hit me like a punch,
I felt naked,
Unclothed,
Clothed in nakedness.


But i I recovered just in time,
Lifted up my head,
And told a tale
About trying to imitate a character I had seen in a movie,
In celebration of his gusto, bravado,
And the air of importance he exuded,
I had adopted his trademark purple shoes for that day.
Kofi said nothing more of my shoes after that.
Wide-eyed stares and questions from other colleagues,
Throughout the day,
Buttressed Kofi’s stance that morning.
I did look hideous in purple shoes after all,
That notwithstanding,
I admired their eccentricity.


Don’t get me wrong,
Nothing could burst my bubble that day,
I just assumed an air of importance,
Intentionally drew attention to my shoes,
Whenever I felt a stare or glare,
Just to deflect unnecessary questions
And uncomfortable conversation,
I only stopped short of clicking my heels,
That probably would have been a wee bit over the top.


At the close of work,
As I walked to the lorry station,
I was all smiles,
As uncouth and curious minds
Alike gawked at my purple feet,
I could not be bothered,
After all,
Could you blame them?
How often does one come across a gentleman
In purple shoes?


Then,
Out of nowhere,
A lady appeared beside me,
In red shoes,
Match made in heaven,
That’s purple and red.
She said,
I absolutely adore your shoes,
I love the colour purple,
I smiled back at her,
Held her hand,
Looked into her big black eyes,
And said,
I wore them especially for you,
She giggled.
Courtesy my purple feet,
We had dinner last Saturday,
Sadly,
My purple shoes were not in attendance,
They were feeling a bit under the weather.


In truth,
I did look absolutely hideous in purple shoes,
I already knew that,
I did not need another to tell me this.
Probably Kofi could have been a bit more subtle
And less brutish in attacking my shoes that day,
But he was neither subtle nor less brutish,
He chose to be frank instead,
And that endeared him to me the more,
For such friends are hard to come by these days,
They pull no punches,
No holds barred,
It is bare knuckles.


Friends of Kofi’s kind are,
Like kenkey with kpakpo shito and fried fish,
Under Akwele’s shed on those hot afternoons,
Always leaves you bathed in sweat,
Yet one keeps asking for more
In between glasses of ice-cold water,
I call such friends,
The what you see is what you get kind,
They are like a brawl at interco,
Leaves you in cuts and bruises,
Yet you are unperturbed for you happened to
Make a new female friend that day,
Who cares if your lower lip is swollen?
It was more than worth it.
Such friends are the one-in-a-millions,
The rare finds,
They are true masterpieces of nature,
Like original paintings,
They put all the fakes hanging around to shame.

PURPLE THREADS AND BUTTONS

Picture Courtesy: www.istockphoto.com


As though it were a shirt,
All want to be part of
The fabric in its makeup,
So they can fit in.


Nothing special,
Commonplace,
Mundane,
That’s fitting in,


Like threads in a fabric,
Difficult to tell one from the other,
Indistinguishable,
Far from remarkable,
They’re all the same.


I choose to be the buttons on that shirt,
Like a purple thread running
Down the middle of a piece of white cloth,
So bright and graceful,
Remarkably different,
It makes all else appear more beautiful.


Why then should you expect me,
Make myself like the many,
Tow a common line,
Or walk a path already traversed by many,
If I ever did that,
How then can I remain a button?
How then do I remain a purple thread?

AS THOUGH HEAVEN OWED HIM A FAVOUR

Picture Courtesy: www.dreamstime.com


Face forlorn,
Furrowed brows,
Hunched shoulders,
His lips could not even imitate a smile.


Under that tree
In a heap,
Briefcase by his side,
Necktie dancing in the wind,
There sat a beaten man.


I never really knew him that well,
All we ever said to each other was hi,
Yet it saddened me to see him there,
Hands up in desperation,
Arms openly embracing defeat.


Wearing a resigned look,
He kept looking up into the clear blue skies,
Waiting,
As if for a sign of some sort,
It was evident,
He had given up.


He never struck me as one
Inclined to giving up,
Yet there he sat,
Under a tree with the birds,
Waiting,
As though heaven owed him a favour.

RELEVANCE

Picture Courtesy: www.seodesignsolutions.com


Amount to something,
Stand for something,
An Embodiment,
Representation,
To become Important,
Having significance,
Worthy of note.


Power,
Aspiration,
Knowledge,
Wealth,
Fame,
Prestige,
In the end,
All we seek is relevance.

WITHIN THE MARGIN OF ERROR

Picture Courtesy: www.blogs.cbn.com


When it is dark,
I can see the sun,
Think me wrong?
Just look within the margin of error.


Lines so straight look crooked,
Lines so crooked look straight,
It’s all within the margin of error.


Gnawing at fingernails,
Underneath clouds foreboding terror,
That’s life in the margin of error.


Drunk on adrenaline,
High on frenetic fervor,
Only when within the margin of error.


I can argue red as green,
You can choose call me off colour,
But it’s all within the margin of error.


In turning left,
I can argue doing so to the right instead,
For I probably speak of your right,
Not my right,
It all depends on where you stand,
Am I not within the margin of error?


The no man’s land,
Where all are neither upright nor transgressors,
Only in the margin of error.


There are no certainties in life,
Grey is the only certainty in life,
Everything else is within the margin of error.

DREAM

Picture Courtesy: www.graphicshunt.com


Awake
Or
Asleep
Why
Should
We
Not
Dream?


Sometimes
Disturbing
Sometimes
Pleasing,
That
Is
Dreaming.


In
Dreams
We
Walk
The
Streets
Of
Tomorrows
Nearby,
Tomorrows
Far
Out
And
Tomorrows
We
Left
Behind
In
Yesterday.


Dreams
Give
Us
The
Power
To
Influence
Tomorrow
When
It
Becomes
Today.


Dreams
Give
Us
Snapshots
Of
Yesterday,
Helping
Us
Better
Understand
Our
Todays.


Dreams
Do
Not
Die,
We
Die
When
We
Lose
Belief
In
Them.


Dreams
Never
Give
Up
On
Us,
We
Give
On
Up
Them.


Dreams
Wait
On
Us,
No
Matter
How
Silly
You
May
Think
That
Sounds.


You
Could
Live
To
Be
A
Thousand
Yet
Until
You
Dream,
You
Would
Have
Lived
A
Thousand
Years
Dying.


Whenever
We
Dream,
We
Transcend
The
Flesh
Embracing
A
Consciousness
Far
Removed
From
This
Earth.


So
Let
Yourself
Go,
Awake
Or
Asleep,
Harness
A
Dream,
Ride
It
Like
A
Trusted
Stead
For
We
Can
Only
Live
When
We
Dream,
This
Life
Is
A
Stuff
Of
Dreams.

WHY THE PAUSE

Picture Courtesy: www.hubpages.com


I paused,
To catch my breath,
Not because I was tired,
Neither was I short of breath,
But rather
So I could gaze upon the big picture,
In whose eyes I could find perspective.


Oh yes,
I gazed upon those eyes,
And I did find perspective,
It shook the very ground on which I stood,
Left me staring in disbelief,
I was amazed,
So taken aback,
My lower jaw tumbled to the floor.


The birds hidden among the eaves and rafters,
Could no longer hide,
For they could not believe what they just saw,
In droves they flocked out,
Accompanied by choruses of laughter,
In laughter,
They forgot they could fly,
Instead,
They rolled up and down the concrete walls
And marble floor,
After which they asked me for cups of water,
For their throats had become sore,
From all that laughter.
When they had drunk their fill,
They then asked for a brush to
Straighten out their feathers,
For they had become rumpled.


In those crazy moments,
With birds rolling on floors and walls
Instead of circling in the skies above,
I found perspective,
There’s so much colour in life,
But not all with eyes can see this,
What matters most in this life of ours,
Is not how much time and effort
We put into colouring our lives,
But rather,
It is what we end up doing with
Whatever colours are available to us,
In every second of each day,
That gives meaning to our lives,
It is not how much colour we add that makes the difference,
It is rather what we do with the few colours we have,
That makes a world of difference.