QUESTIONS

PICTURE OF A SEATED MAN DEEP IN THOUGHT
Courtesy: www.shutterstock.com

There is darkness
And there is light
But why cant the light hold sway
Push the dark eternally away?


There’s tomorrow,
Today
And yesterday.
But why does tomorrow become today,
Today becomes yesterday
And yesterday, a distant memory?


There’s Life
And there’s death,
But why is it that I cannot I live forever?
Life always dies.
What is the lesson in this?

I forever live with these eternal questions
Till death bids me question no more.
So until that day,
I choose to be light that drives away darkness,
I choose to live today
For todays are the buildings of yesterday
And the foundations of tomorrow.

So until death comes,
I will be light,
I will delight.
I’ll live today
For yesterday and tomorrow have no place in today.


No matter how hard I try,
I can never answer all of life’s questions today
Where there’s life, there are questions,
And we seek answers to them.
In death there will be questions too,
But not our questions,
Another’s questions,
I pray we have the answers come that day.

THE ROAD TO SUCCESS

PICTURE COURTESY: www.hoopgirl.com

As I walk down the dusty path,
I do not look where I step
I do not fear where I step
For I feel safe,
I find safety in my shoes.


But as I walk further,
I begin to feel left out
For my shoes engage the earth in chatter
While I listen to echoes of their conversation
I the master,
My shoes the servant,
How can the servant make the master jealous?


I command the shoes
I am the shoes
For they cannot walk unless I walk in them,
So how can I be jealous of my own shoes?
How can I be jealous of these shoes?


But I am jealous
For my shoes engage the earth in conversation
While I find comfort in echoes of their voices
Bouncing off the rock faces
As I walk this lonely path.


I attempt talking to my own shoes
But I cannot hear them speak back at me.
They seem more interested in the earth than me,
They seem to enjoy ridiculing me.


In a fit of madness
I take those shoes off
Flinging them into a thicket
I then rise, begin to walk
It is then that I begin to hear
But what I hear is no echo,
I can hear the earth speak.


My son, what do you seek?
Success, I respond
I have waited for far too long
I hear it resides at the tail end of this path
I cannot remain a part of the dark,
I must amount to something
I seek to become light
That drives away the dark
I seek to become day even at night.


From then on,
I no longer hear the earth speak,
All I hear is the sound of a beating heart
Travelling through the soles of my naked feet
Right through to the top of the hairs on my head.


The further I go, the stronger the beat,
I feel the sands urging me on
And within the sands I discern success speak
Feeling closer to success,
I break into run
Drunk with thoughts that I may have found success.
I remember days when I met cul-de-sacs, no access
When my feet were adorned in abscess
Like those of a lost Himalayan sherpa.
Days when I roamed the streets of this city
Like the monster of Loch Ness
Unkempt and a total mess.


Lost in a daydream,
I trip and fall
Bruise my hands
I feel the thorns in my feet
I soil the face of the earth
With my bleeding feet.


I continue to hobble on crying feet
For I can still feel the earth beat,
I no longer walk the earth,
I have become a part of it
And it a part of me.


As I go along,
I see the chameleon
But it refuses change colour.
What a sight,
I hear the crows rustling among the leaves
But instead of caw as they usually do,
They choose mimic the sound of my footsteps
As though I were the star in some disturbing movie.


As my path begins to narrow,
My feet begin making a rasping noise
Like that of a saw sinking teeth into wood.
I feel the earth’s heartbeat
Slowly begin fade distinctly into a gentle
Tapping sound
And then, it magically disappears.


Lo and behold,
I stand before a massive door,
It stands without hinges,
I cringe
For I feel the hinges within me begin cringe.


I see windows that hang in space
Without supports.
Imagine eyes standing on their own
Without resting in the sockets of a head.
Yes, these windows do not rest within walls,
They stand as though on two feet.


I see the word SUCCESS
Crudely carved into the door.
I begin beating on it like a drum
For I feel success has taken up residence
Behind this strange door.


The surface of the door is uneven
And the splinters begin cutting into my skin,
Yet not even the sight of my own blood
Is enough restraint
I bang and I bang
I continue to bang
Like a bass drummer trapped in an encore. I bang.


I eventually grow tired,
My hands are bloodied,
My clothes crimson red,
I sink to my feet in tears
For it seems my path does end here,
Behind a closed door with success inscribed.


As I lay there,
The door towers over me like a victor,
I the casualty,
In a show of defiance I rise
For I did not come this far to find comfort in my own tears.
I shall peek through those windows,
Maybe I can squeeze underneath them,
I murmur to myself.
Slowly, I march towards the hanging windows
Feet heavy and badly bruised,
I finally reach them
Wiping frantically at them.


As I peer through them,
I can make out the shape of a person
Seated on the floor with head lowered,
A stranger imprisoned in a room
Without walls, only windows and a door.
I wipe harder at the windows,
Blood begins splattering over them,
Then I realize,
It is me seated in there.


I call out to myself
But it seems I cannot hear me cry out to me.
I try making my way past the window
To no avail,
There is no through way,
I’m at a dead end.


Then a darkness begins envelope me,
Casting a huge shadow over me,
I quickly turn only to realize
Darkness eating away the light,
I then begin running towards the light
As my bruised feet begin cry out to me
Stop… stop... Oh please why won’t you stop?
But I cannot stop lest the darkness swallow me whole.


As I make my way back down the path,
I begin to see the chameleon change colour, black,
The crows are silent, they no longer rustle,
Disturbing…….
The clouds are deathly black
And I feel a strong sense of foreboding
Something ominous hangs thick in the ear.


It seems the harder I run towards light
The closer it get to darkness,
I soon realize my arms have left my side,
My feet are in flight away from me
And I no longer run on the dusty path.
I’m floating into the darkness,
Disembodied and helpless.


Then I hear a voice call out to me,
I feel a tap on my shoulder
Covered in sweat
My bed a mess
I turn towards the windows of my room
Only to find them sitting in walls,
My bedroom door sits in a wall,
My feet no longer bleeding
And my arms and legs by my side
I had been dreaming all along.
As I try prop myself up with my hand,
I feel a sharp pain in my palm
Falling backwards onto the bed.
I then go on to remove a splinter from my palm
Looking on, as a droplet of blood stains the sheets red.
Have I just woken from a dream?

THE INVISIBLE MAN

PICTURE OF AN INVISIBLE MAN
Courtesy: www. ee.duke.edu


As I sit here,
Beating on my keyboard
Like a deranged animal
Just so I can leave a piece of me with you,
In works I call pieces,
In which I piece together pieces of me
Just so I can find within me peace,
Paint pictures with words
Yet still remain invisible
Within the shadows
Hidden and unseen
An invisible man.


Pull up my profile
The one thing on it that catches
Your eye is a picture of me
Purported
Supposed
In my likeness
But not truly me.
A mass of pixels that attempt give you an image of me,
Leaving impressions on your mind
Of a man
With a moustache, dimples, pimples and a brow
But you just might walk past me on the street
I just might have walked past you yesterday.
Why?
Because all you have is a supposed picture
A picture of me yesterday
A yesterday far removed from today
Today’s picture is far different from yesterday’s
The only picture of me you have today
Is that of an invisible man.


I woke this morning
Took off my moustache and eyebrows,
Funny……. Funny…..
Then went on and Imprisoned my head with a yarmulke
Walked into a smock and pulled up my African pants
Pants…. Pants….
Instead me wear them, they wore me
Making my skin jealous
Skin then began shouting out
Intruder!!! Intruder!!!
As though before it stood a cat burglar.
I embraced a walking stick
And unsteadied my gait,
Unbalanced my weight.
I walked into a persona
To neither confuse nor confound
But rather portray the many facets of me,
To disprove that which you embrace as a picture of me
For there is no single picture that sums up me.
Poetry is my craft,
My writings, my pieces, my only true picture
Through those I open doors for you into my soul,
Draw pictures of me inside
For that is truly who I am
The face you see is just a mask
Flesh, brows and eyelids that I wear like a cloak
The true picture of me resides within,
Hidden, unseen
I am an invisible man.


I try to prick your conscience
And awaken you into a consciousness
Just so you can mull over my inner thoughts
But I do not seek that we either agree or disagree
Instead I seek to scale a ladder into your soul
For it only then that we can actually sit
Talk, share and truly embrace our shared humanity.
Puzzling…..why?
Because as I pour myself onto you in the form of words,
You do not see my eyelids heavy with tears
A face etched in beautiful hues of confusion
Neither do you see a brain pregnant with colourful ideas
All you see are words,
My words……..
They are a shunt placed in my brain
So you can grab your thermometer
And take my temperature
Just so you can gauge my thoughts
And form a mental picture of me.
A picture of an invisible man,
A mysterious man.
These are the words of an invisible man…

THE SINGLE STORY

PICTURE SHOWING A STACK OF BOOKS
Courtesy: duluth.lib.mn.us


Former President of Liberia Mr. Charles Taylor,
This man was no saint,
He was a savage and very callous,
How do I know this?
Because I read it in books
Heard it on the news
And on my radio.


I have never met Mr. Taylor before in my life,
Neither have I met anyone who
Claims to know him or have met him.
I have never shook his hand before
Neither have I walked past him on my street at home.


Had it not been for television,
The internet
Radio
And newspapers
The name Charles Taylor would mean nothing to me.


He currently stands trial at the International Court in The Hague,
Accused of committing war crimes,
Dealing in blood diamonds
Among a host of other colourful accomplishments.
He truly might be a bad man,
But there is no way of verifying this,
All I know of him are stories others have told,
Those told by the foreign media.


I do not claim these stories untrue,
Neither do I claim them true,
But there’s one thing I can say for a fact,
I only have a single story on Charles Taylor,
Stories told me through the eyes of the foreign media,
I can only tell stories on what I have been told,
My single story on Mr. Charles Taylor.


President Omar Al-Bashir of Sudan,
I have not the slightest idea what this
Man may look like,
Probably he has a goatee,
Probably he has shifty eyes,
Maybe he wears a turban but only on Sundays
Or even goes to bed in a pair of Levis Strauss jeans.


He is no friend of mine,
Not even an acquaintance,
Probably he does not speak English
Maybe he speaks fluent Spanish,
I cannot quite tell for I do not know this man.


All I know about him,
I have read in newspapers
Watched on television
Heard on my radio
And read on the internet.


He is wanted by the International court in The Hague,
They say he is a very bad man,
His crimes seem to grow in number everyday,
I’m sure the folder that has the name
Omar Al-Bashir
Written boldly on it is bulging at the seams
Threatening to spill its contents.


Two arrest warrants have been issued for him so far,
I do not know if all these stories about this man are true,
I have no way of verifying them,
All I know is what the western media have fed me.


I do not claim these stories untrue,
Neither do I claim them true,
But there’s one thing I can say for a fact,
I only have a single story on Omar Al-Bashir,
Stories told me through the eyes of the foreign media,
I can only tell stories on what I have been told,
My single story on Omar Al-Bashir.


President Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe,
The man above is no friend of mine,
I have never sat at table with him,
Neither have I had the chance to ask him a question.


I have seen him on my television on numerous occasions,
Most of the times I saw him,
He wore spectacles
A black suit
And black shoes.


Probably he hates black shoes,
Maybe he prefers pink instead.
Maybe given the chance he would wear raffia skirts
Over a white t-shirt
But I can never quite tell for sure
For he is no friend of mine.


I have a single story on this man,
That told to me through the eyes of others,
I hear he’s singlehandedly brought a nation to its knees,
I hear people live in fear under his leadership,
I hear he’s quite a feisty character
And oversees a starving population.


I have heard so many things about this man,
All I have heard I cannot verify
I’ve never been to Zimbabwe before,
I probably never might,
He might be as bad as they say he is,
Or he might be good.
All I can tell you is my single story,
The story told me through the eyes of others,
President Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe is a very bad man.


Charles Taylor,
Omar Al-Bashir,
Robert Mugabe,
All total strangers to me.


All I know about these men above are
Single stories told to me by others,
I wish I had more than my single stories,
I wish I had other stories that give me a bigger picture
For deep underneath the ruins of a building lies a hidden truth
Buried treasures
And untold stories.
Till the day I am able to unearth these untold stories,
And buried treasure troves,
I will take my single stories with a pinch of salt,
I will not doubt them,
But I’m uncomfortable that African stories are
Being told to Africans through foreign eyes.


Even reportage on my own country is skewed,
I once read that 97% of Ghanaians use firewood
For cooking,
This story has been widely circulated
Through a video game.


Therefore I was not surprised,
When a friend who had never visited Ghana before
Asked me this question,
Have you heard of global warming?
Yes, I replied, though with a slight hint of annoyance,
He went on to ask,
Why do you all continue depleting the ozone layer?
By burning firewood,
Surely you can adopt a much greener way.


Till this very day,
All my attempts to give an actual picture
Of my country Ghana have been met by fierce
Resistance from my friend.
I do not blame him,
For he only speaks based on what he’s been told,
He speaks from his single story on my country Ghana.


A friend of mine gained a scholarship to go study abroad,
A classmate of his once asked him,
I hear you all live on trees back there in Africa,
Is that really true?
Visibly annoyed, he replied,
Yes!!! That is very true,
My father occupies the highest branch
Followed by my mom
And the rest of my siblings in that order.
I really do not blame his classmate
And neither do I fault my friend for not trying to put him right.
It is next to impossible to disprove a single story,
Especially those on Africa.


I have nothing against the foreign media
Or any other kind of media for that matter,
I have strong reservations about single stories,
Single stories create stereotypes,
They only give aspects of a story
Portraying them as the whole.
Single stories speak as though representative of all.


So the next time you hear a story,
Especially one on the developing world,
Take it with a pinch of salt,
Africa is not a country as portrayed
Day in day out by the foreign media,
Africa is a continent comprised of many countries.


There’s more to Africa than
War,
Disease,
Poverty
And burning of firewood to aid global warming.
There’s more to Africa than endemic rape in Congo,
Skewed democracies
And Presidents who rule for eternity,
Please discard your single stories on Africa
And other people,
There just might be more to it than you are being told,
Single stories only make you myopic,
They belittle your intellect
And only give enough rope so you can hang yourself.
Beware of the single stories,
For they almost always never give a clear picture.

UNRAVELLING THE THREADS OF SOCIETY

PICTURE OF A BALL OF TWINE
Courtesy: strangefragments.blogspot.com


Man has always been capable of violence,
It has always been in his nature,
An innate rebelliousness that resides in him.
Throughout history,
Anarchy,
Chaos and
Other unthinkable acts visited upon
The earth and man by a fellow man
Testify to fact that man possesses an ability
Which can enable him given circumstance and motivation
Stray from that which is good and embrace
The tenets of selfish and individualistic thinking.
Though having a more developed brain,
Giving him an advanced ability to think and process things,
Man does share and even sometimes surpasses
The feral nature of carnivorous animals.


It is because of the above that society found
It prudent to lay down rules and regulations
Not as a means to dictate
But rather as a behavioural guide for all who
May choose to reside or work within that very
society and others who may in one way or the other
Have vested interests within that very society.


Every person of sound mind
Subscribes to the fact that with
Rules, Regulations and Laws
Come punitive measures as well.
Punitive measures serve
As a deterrent just so the rights of others
Are not trampled upon.
In order for peace and harmony to prevail.
In every society, there are mechanisms
Put in place so the aggrieved can seek some form of justice,
No person is the law.


It is therefore worrying
Very disturbing
And mind boggling that a select few,
Calling themselves foot soldiers have decided
Hold an entire nation to ransom.
It is even more disturbing that institutions put
In place to prevent the above from happening
Seem powerless to stop this
Or are they unwilling to?


Is it really necessary for the king himself
To come down from upon his throne
And instruct his men of the law to
Arrest those flouting the law and bring them to book?
Do the laws governing society not state so?
When did anarchy and chaos become
Acceptable in the eyes of society?
The difference between right and wrong has never
Been ambiguous.
There are no grey areas here,
All must obey laws or be brought to book
If they choose to act otherwise.
We’re gradually witnessing the unraveling
Of the threads of our society,
Chaos and anarchy are now tethered on twines,
They threaten to roam free with each daybreak.
CLAMP DOWN ON FOOT SOLDIERS – IGP ORDERS,
A directive from above, I’m lost for words,
There’s confusion etched on my face,
My brows are furrowed, I really must ask
Did it really have to come to this?
When did the law become ambiguous?