Monday, 24 February 2014

Coffin at State House

There is a riddle in our soul
A proverbial totem of survival

Crocodile children went to the play-field
And fire maimed their homes
So they returned
To meet headless walls

Our cedi kneels
Before the shrine of global gods
Her value dashed to garbage can
Her flesh, de-fattened
Her destiny dangling
Like locomotive squirrel’s testicles

Our economic witches
Lost their eyes
And now
A new coffin lies at state house

We have known survival
But these headless walls
Threaten us into ghost-hood

Wednesday, 19 February 2014

A Dearth

Now I stand
Looking through the glass window
Holding a cup of cold water

Then the voice came:
You are on a foreign land.

What is in a self-exile
That maims the deeper self?
There is something in this journey
That takes the spirit from us,

Then the cup dropped

Splitting ALL its contents and ITSELF