Tuesday, 27 September 2011


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
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.

Monday, 26 September 2011

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

              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.