LOSING FAMILY

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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'

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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

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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.