Wishing

.......

that

your rib gate

goes insane

hands over the keys

to that

soft soft

garden

nurtured behind the ribs

.......

that

our souls melt

into

one

flowing stream of

flowers

and

screams

and

smiles

.......

that

soon

We’ll lead ourselves

to some altar

where our innocence

will be sacrificed

to a god

sitting somewhere

deep in us

downwards

Naked

At dawn

It was all smiles

and kisses

and touches

Then

It was all moans

and moans

and moans

But

Now,

the dagger in the smiles

the fireTongues in the moans

birthed a river

of blood

of tears

of screams

My heart lies

NAKED

waiting and waiting

for stiches…

Home Dancer

Her aesthetic feet are

Zigzagging through the soils

In response to the call

Of the woods of drums

Adorned in adinkra,

Teaching and rebuking

Our fast falling homes

Turning into houses.

And now she bids me come

With luring parted lips

Giving her face a smile.

As I get nearer, behold

Her breast entangled in kente

Shaped like twin fufu balls

Protruding majestically in earthenware.

Still she bids me come

And her beaded feet massage the soils

In consonance with

Rumbling intriguing rhythms.

Leave me, my people

Let me get caught in her arms

Embracing her beauty

Adorned in kente and beads

And feel honoured.

And still she bids me 'me

Leave me, I must go.

01/ /08 Legon.

Daily Requiem Mass

At the sundown

When the burial must be done

There will be nothing left to be interred

Each rising kills;

Each sleeping lay in state

An essential part of the body--dead

A song, a wail, a tear

All work with and for

Same result: our death!

So sing me another song of love

Tell me of roses and Shangri-la

Teach me of the father’s love

And the son’s willing sacrifice

Life with its vast marshlands

Is enough interment of desires

Dressed for a Requiem Mass

Before the quench of the final breath!

Give me wreaths to decorate my bed

Write me tributes for special messages

Lead me to my private cemetery on birthday:

These shall outlast my tombstones

Whatever is done or undone

There shall be nothing left for interment

When the final breath is gone

Sunlight at Midnight

There is sunlight at midnight

When all things retire

And all grey time expire

There is sunlight at midnight

There are rocks of pain

Dancing in our dreams

Dogs came and stole our last meal

Bats flew over our beds, spitting faecal maters

Clouds lash us with burning light

Then smoke us in steams

And leave us in earth’s frying pan

But my love

There is sunlight at midnight

When all things retire

And all grey time expire

There is sunlight at midnight

Leaks

Every thought has a corresponding feeling

Every feeling has a location in a body

The Castle leaks

Toil sinks

I cry God

We were all in the struggle falling in front

Carving paths, chronicling history

Flagstaff House leaked

Hopes sank

We cried God

Were we looking for dead crabs like those

Our basketfuls will have been more than twelve

Peduase Lodge is leaking

Joys sinking

We all are crying God

Shall we find to yet other savior-leaders?

These are thoughts

Located body feelings

I cried God.

26/01/2011 Kotobabi.

In The Butchers Hands

Each day we wake up

There are tears in the eyes of earth

So our little joys

Become little toys

Tossed into the blaze

In the burnt up moons

We measure our strength with blood

The volume split

Tells our love for dignity

Yet battle songs are not always for the brave

The brave keep their hearts pure but unafraid

Recently it was Alkebulan

That submerged

In the flood of human body parts

Piled up, yams tubers

For sale at the World Trade Centre

But before they got there

The Centre was burnt by peace lovers

Sparking several vengeful display

Of scientific supremacy

Now Syria lies at the crossroad

Her fate lingering in the divining room

Each mystical message

Telling different tales-

Germany said no

UK said no

France in a dilemma

USA full of venom

Goes to Congress for death certificate

All for Syria

The diviner lies prostrate

Trying hard not to tilt the du

We all stand

Holding hands across our heads

Praying Syria never goes to the butchers

Her meat, to the soul-prison

Of NATO

Like Libya