BUT WHO DEFINES "FASHION?"

Every normal from the norm in dressing is called fashion.  A friend saw a picture of mine on facebook.com and told me that it was not part of the  rules of fashion to dress the way I did.

It was one of those joyous moods after writing and chanting a great poem, that I decided to wear a long sleeved white shirt, a black-dotted green tie and put on a neat red African print given to me by Charity Dzatugbui Agbozo (Mrs), my dealy beloved mother. I took a picture of myself in that mixture of African and Western fabric to share the unity and beauty of such a combination with the world, and it is seen as odd.

Who defines fashion? Again I ask, who defines fashion? Isn't anything new in the the world of dressing fashionable? Someone answer me. If not so, then what are our African ladies doing with "gladiator" and its extended family members? These are just THOUGHTS!

I WANT TO BE A PROSTITUTE

I want to be a prostitute

Sharing my conscience with crowns

On beds of guilt-pricked mattresses,

I want to be a prostitute

Lying on every shelve of every library

Displaying the love for the land’s prowess

I want to be a prostitute

Standing at traffic lights’ verandas

Directing the vehicles of life in rows

I want to be a prostitute

Guest at board and cabinet meetings

Vaccinating hearts of hedonisms

I want to be a prostitute

Lecturing true sounds of the lands

Restructuring the faces of the fallen heroes

I want to be a prostitute

Visiting brother prisoners in cells

Envying us, outside but in prisons

I want to be a prostitute

In all fallopian tubes

Planting the language of milk and sugar’s seeds

I want to be a prostitute

Washing hands and feet of betrayers

In the virgin mid-night rainfalls

I want to be a prostitute

Comforting women beating breasts

Whose husbands, guilt made impotents

I want to be a prostitute

Holding God’s torchlight

For all sojourning into unknowns

I want to be a prostitute

Leading the lands

To arrive at the golden beginnings

I’m the spirit and sound of  Earth.

                 23/02/2011, Balme Library.

Now To His Altar

…All you hear

Now to his altar draw near…

The God we worship sits beside me today

…Now to his altar draw near

Joining in glad adoration…

…Cannonading our landbrothers

And the whole Earth covered with voices of

Gethsemane joy

…And I sit Weighing the world’s new camouflage.

10/09/11 PAWA House, Roman Ridge.

Sacred Serene Secrets (Tribute to: High School Secrets by Mawuli Letsa.)

We

              Cease Sun’s Serene Secret Souls

Tracing Tempos of Trombones in Trance

Awaking Again hadzixevi of secret codes

To celebrate resurrected   Success Secrets

A Mystery Master decodes the       clouds

Bringing a gang of unseen           weapons

Modeled after Sanctified Celestial Sounds

Leading us to Battles Before their     starts

High Heavenly Scholarly School Secrets

Rained down upon us like Holy Spirit’s

Pentecostal Bare Bonfire, Bandaged

Upon the disciples’ Heads in High rooms

Sons of Success Stand Strong Saluting

Sanctified Celestial Secrets

O! Come Join this Jama

Paying homage to mystified codes

Treasures woven into flowery

Adinkra kente emerging from

The loom of Mawuli

In the reverberating inky            Dawn Drums

Come!    On Board!         Dance to his Rhythms

Mawuli Beats the       Secret Drums

And We                 Must Dance to Secret Rhythms

To this        Voice of Inspiration

Resonating in our land today and beyond…

                           06/08/2011 Mafi Adidome.

Fafa: Cardiac Desire (For: Fafali M. Keketsor: a poem for your birthday.)

When the CHIMURENGA commenced

We leapt into            battleDance

Dancing our primacy birthDance

In the                  liberationDance

DeathDance begets BirthDance

It is then           that we

Can sleep neck to neck

Our souls corresponding to this common call

Into intimate caves’ cozy corners:

For tomorrow…

     Tomorrow holds our garnished dreams

Of infant fantasies

So go…

Go into the pathways of our dreams

And capture our imagination

Not the broken winged nightingale

That cannot sojourn across skies

But remember:

DeathDance begets BirthDance

  09/09/11 Legon

I’ll Rumble On

                      …I’ll rumble on

To curse our naïve conquerors

Kapem the cowards come back home

Someone has caught our voice

And handed it over to owners of nights

And zadokeli do le Bleamezado

A world with a single tongue can never

Be a human world but they caught our tongue

And handed it over to owners of nights

Its poverty that made the vulture sell

Her hair to the owl for thirty cowries

For the barren must also endure in kodzogbe

Oh, distant dreams beckon honey call

But I stand on this ruined primal compound

Hitting our naïve conquerors in subliminal baritone

I’ll rumble on…

10/09/2011 Legon, 10:49pm.