Tuesday, 27 December 2011


I wonder what my mood wants
Or why my heart flaunts
Its hidden sorrows and tears
Of long forgotten years
This lonely night
My spirit cries
And I simply can’t tell why
What else can I possibly do?
When away from me sleep moves
But to sit through this languid night
And do nothing, but write
Not much will it give
...Just a relief
....so I can sleep.

Monday, 26 December 2011


Where is the peace?
No one can tell
How about bliss?
Not in this hell
Not in this state
Nor at this rate
Not with such turmoil
No, not at all.

So from our hearts these questions flow
Oh where did our souls go?
Like birds they did fly
Into the angry grey sky
Up into the nothingness
Of nature’s awesome existence

People see! There goes our magic
A big loss, so tragic
Life has turned a darker shade
Great expectations, all fade
The cheetah has lost its spots
Our identities are far gone

Days are full of night
We are filled with such fright
Our strength has been drained
Our hearts have gone faint
No more, masters! No more pain!

Open up and let us in
We, with our sweat-beaded skin
Let us in through the freedom gate
We, with memory-loads of ever-increasing weight
The memories of bitter nectar and sweet bile
Of joyous weeping and sad smiles
Balanced in our self-inflicted wounded hands

We cry out; set free the sacred dove
Oh masters of our lands
Set free our souls….sick, tired souls,
Yet ones, that still know…                                             
Of yesterday’s peace...and tomorrow’s love.

Sunday, 25 December 2011


It was a wretched season for me. A time when I wanted to drill a pit deep in some rain forest and bury myself till it passed. Human beings appeared from nowhere onto streets in town. Were they ghosts? Spirits? gods? Who were also joining the mortals to make merry? Prices of goods…very basic goods like rice, tomatoes shot up…no sky-rocketed! It was outrageous, the price of a fowl. The poor were bound to starve to death before the New Year arrived. Then there was the advertisements on TV, radio, those huge billboards that never seemed strong to me (after every heavy rain, a couple fell and caused whatever damage it could cause) about church crusades, end-of-year watchnight services, New Year motivational phrases and mottos that made me wonder how the lives of those people who always ripped the old year’s ‘MY YEAR OF PROSPERITY’ to gingerly paste on the butt of their cars, a boldly written, ‘MY YEAR OF TRANSFORMATION’ really were. Were those things sold to the entire congregation? What about those who had no cars? Where did they paste those? In their room?...In front of their mirrors? No, no one would see it if they hid it in their rooms. It was designed for people to see…that those enthusiastic ‘church-goers’ were going to have a year of transformation, from grass to grace, obviously. Their enemies were being warned, I guess. Whatever happened to peace and quiet in that last month of a long, depressing year was something worth investigating! The whole world seemed to shoot up in a frenzy of indiscriminate noise-making euphemized as merry-making, caroling, name them. Kids would spill out onto streets in various neighborhoods to light fire crackers…’knock-outs’ that managed to scare the hell out of me each time I heard one go off close to me. The season jumped up into a mill, got itself milled to fine grains and sprinkled itself all over my every nerve…getting into it without warning…making me want to throw up, vanish from the earth temporarily until further notice, or better still, drop dead! What was it about Christmas that got people so crazy, I asked myself every year when the craze began. And each year I stayed indoors and got no answer.
You ask why I was so bitter about the season? Well, I wasn’t just bitter people, I loathed the season with every breath I had in me. Each year was the same…damned routine! Teaching in senior high was a nightmare throughout the year. But I needed the income for bare survival so I had to live through the year. It was a miracle I hadn’t murdered one of my insolent students yet..the brats they were! I will take you down memory lane so sit tight while I make you understand how I lost my Christmas and why the loss had left me as I was…bitter, and alone.
December 1995…
I had completed my first semester of my first year in the University…I was 19 years old. Throughout that semester I had looked forward to Christmas…waited for it with bated breath. I had my suitcase, my ‘Ghana-must-go’ tarpaulin bag and my bucket, with my pillow stuffed in it. My teddy bear was grandly seated atop my suitcase and I waited rather impatiently for him to come for me…and take me home. It was late morning, I remember…and I waited, and waited, and waited…and I’m still waiting, for him to come for me. I’m still waiting for daddy to walk into my life and yank me awake, hold me in those huge military arms and tell me it was all a bad dream. I was angry with him that day; it’s still fresh in my mind. He had broken another promise, was all I could think of. He promised to come for me and it was past 3 in the afternoon and he had not showed up. I had given up; was about to find myself a taxi when one stopped inches away from me, and out stepped my aunt, whom I hadn’t seen in ages. Nothing registered…all I could think of was getting home and enjoying Christmas with my family…go to church with them…share the traditions of the season with the ones I loved. So she took me home. And there was a welcome party for me…okay; it wasn’t a welcome party…something directly opposite that. Family members whose faces I hadn’t seen in years and some I had never seen were in my house, in my sitting room, in my kitchen, on my porch, on the lawn. Mother? Where was mother? She was upstairs being consoled by other women who needed to be consoled themselves. I asked no question, it simply dawned on me…my father, the army officer…my favorite commander…my hero, had passed away without giving me any notice whatsoever! He had died when I was in the middle of my end-of-semester examinations, so they had hidden it from me; afraid the news will affect my concentration. What did it matter? The one I was working to make proud, had left without saying goodbye. Folks, that was just the beginning.

December 1996…
A year after his passing, we had all healed considerably. I still held the hope that he would come back, deep somewhere in my heart. That year, there had been a lot of changes. I had found God, on a whole new level. I was a Christian before the year 1996, but something about that year made me a better Christian. The bible had more meaning to me. Christianity became more exciting. I was eager to learn. That still small voice comforted me like never before. God had healed me. I suppose, it was ‘MY YEAR OF HEALING’. The birth of Christ was then a very important occasion for me. So I was home for Christmas again…happy that God had healed my family from the shock. It was morning…25th day of the month. I was on my knees, beside my bed…thanking Him for keeping us safe…blessing His name for he had comforted us when we were in mourning and had given us hope that all was not lost…praising Him abundantly for making that year’s Christmas more bright. I was right in the middle of that prayer…the very last I remember praying, when I heard…the explosion…I ran…downstairs, outside…and there, before my eyes, our kitchen, which was separated from the main house, was on fire…and I was the only one standing out there. Why wasn’t; mother coming out to check what had happened, I had been thinking, as I screamed for help; having no clue what to do. Where was my kid brother? Was he sleeping through that much noise? The rest was a blur…neighbours came in, tried quenching the fire…the fire engine came moments later and got it under control. It seemed like years later, the kitchen was down to the ground…and my mother and brother had been thoroughly roasted…their bodies were locked in an embrace when we found them…had they embraced before or after the explosion? I could never know.

December 2006
Ten years, after I was orphaned…I was 30 years old…and I was married. Yes, I was married to someone I wonder now, why I loved in the first place. It was my third year of marriage and we had no children yet. Bruce understood, or so I thought. That year, I remember patting myself on the shoulder; congratulating myself for making it without God. I had left him behind in that fire that took away my mother and brother the very moment I was asking Him to protect them! If that was the luck He brought with Him, then I was sure not interested in serving Him. Those ten years had gradually turned me against the whole idea about His birth. Christmas could be anything else but the birth of one who took away my family when I knew Him. It felt like being stabbed in the back by a close friend. The betrayal one felt in such cases could not be compared with the level of betrayal I felt. I had to forget God, and I did. After forgetting him, bad things had stopped happening to me. They had stopped until that day…when I decided to do some last-minute shopping. The season had become more of a season of shopping and gift-giving and partying, than a season of God’s blessing and remembrance of Jesus’ birth. I had finished shopping…the mall was packed full with people like me who loved the holiday rush…I had nothing to do in that baby shop…I only wanted to window-shop…who knew, I was going to be a mother one day, eventually. My first reaction when I saw them was to turn back and leave; pretend I hadn’t seen him with her. But something about her caught my attention; something I was trying hard not to believe. He had his hands around her. That hand was resting on her belly…the lady was extremely pregnant, I was sure she was in her eighth month or even the ninth. And my husband was shopping with her; his hands all over her…they looked happy. I felt out of place…but I had to confront him there and then. I had braced myself for a fight but what I got was worse than that. It was a slap in the face! My husband did not deny anything. He had been having an affair with that lady, she had got pregnant; the one thing i had failed at. Divorce was the only thing in mind at that moment and I didn’t need to ask. He was actually begging me to give him one. Three months into 2007, we were single individuals again. He got married to his bitch who had given him a son, and they moved to the UK. That stole the rest of my holiday season. The Decembers in my life were bad news…bad dreams…bad times. The season was an enemy. I wished I could skip that last month of every year. Let those who had cause to make merry do so, while I started my January without them…they could catch up later.
So that’s what happened between me and Christmas. I lost it. In between losing my parents and my only sibling and years later my husband, to another woman, I lost the joy of Christmas. I lost the meaning, the miracle, the spirit and the message of Christmas. I gave up God in the process too. But someone up there, if not God, had not given up on me yet…

I think it was sometime time in April of 2008. He was new…a chemistry teacher for our science department. I had been the only one teaching chemistry for a long time..I needed that relieve he brought as an add-on. It happened that he wasn’t only there to teach but to change my life. At first I didn’t want to be friendly with him, but he is the kind of person one would automatically warm up to. So by the end of that year, we were best friends. I had told him about my Decembers and lost Christmas. ‘I will help you find it’ was what he always told me. He was set on helping me find it. Christmas that year was quiet for me, as usual. I stayed indoors; no shopping, no church-going, no partying. But something different happened. There used to be no visitors as well but that year he visited me. He came with food, and drinks and smiles. How could I have resisted. We talked for hours, finished the food and a couple of drinks. Then he begged me to escort him to a place he called home, and I did; it was his church. It wasn’t Sunday…there was no one there save an organist, behind the organ; he was probably practicing. But he played such lovely tunes. Christmas tunes I had long forgotten. The cords in my heart seemed to be attached to that in the organ. Every key he played struck hidden cords in my heart. But I was determined to keep the wall I had built around it intact. I remember asking him why he had brought me there and he said we were there to start looking for my Christmas. We sat there for an hour, I think…listening to the organist who played endlessly, those carols. By the time we left that church, my defense wall was half down. Something had nibbled away at it in that church as that organist played those tunes. The chemistry teacher, my best friend, was going to stop at nothing to get me back my Christmas.
2009 was ‘MY YEAR OF TRANSFORMATION’ if I have permission to put it that way. Safo, my best friend, had managed to get me to go to church with him every Sunday of that year. And on the last Sunday of 2009, I was at church with him, a day after our wedding...Safo was my better half.
 On my wedding day, my wall was no longer there. That wedding was different…it was a marriage with God as its foundation. I had married Bruce, my first husband without God involved and I had paid the price. Safo held my hand and guided me back to Christ…he built the strong foundation and together with me, we set up a home on it. On my wedding day that December…the altar before which I stood with him was that ‘lost and found’ shelf we have back in the school I teach in. In my new God-sent husband’s heart was my personal ‘lost-and-found’ cubicle…where my lost Christmas was. In the heart of Safo, I found God, I found love, I found the joy of Christmas. And it has never been the same…

December 2011…
I’m seated on a hospital bed…my mother-in-law just left to go get me more chicken light soup. God sent me a gift this Christmas; a son. I went into labor yesternight…Christmas eve. And my boy arrived on Christmas day…a loud package he is! It’s boxing day today, and my husband is seated here by my bed, with our gift wrapped in a blanket…reminding me of Christ’s birth…and more...in the face of my boy I see a face I have dreamt of for so many years…a face I have prayed to see just one more time…to say goodbye. But the face is here to stay…it is the face of my father…the face of my father present in that of my son…a carbon copy of my favorite commander. My December couldn’t get any better!


The heart-rate monitor was beeping and the liquid was slowly dripping through the IV. Her arm lay limp on the crisp white sheet and her eyes were fixed to the ceiling. She blinked continuously and smiled slightly from time to time. Those were the only movements she made. Although physically she seemed inactive, her brain was busily working its way till the last minute. She couldn’t explain the pain in her heart.

She had so many questions but less answers. She wanted to know what she had done, where she had gone wrong and why God was taking her away from her family and the ones she loved. She had barely started life. Her wedding was scheduled a month away but she wondered if she was going to be there. She knew she wasn’t going to make it to her wedding. Talk of a wedding with no bride. She sighed and shifted her gaze to the finger on which her wedding band would have been securely lodged. She imagined it on, the sun pouring over it, making it sparkle. He had been there the day before and had cried and begged her to live. She had been too weak to talk back but even then she knew she was going to die. Death was very close. She was happy he wasn’t around to watch her go. It would have been too much for him.

She shut her eyes. Doing the right thing hadn’t been easy. The world hadn’t made it easy to do the right thing but she fought through. A world in which good was rejected and evil hailed. It hadn’t been easy to shun them all; the sex, the drugs, the alcohol. She lived against the world. She had been happy though. She had been happy with her life with God and the church. Meeting Agyekum had been another of God’s miracles. If he was the one for her, why then was God taking her away? Why was she never going to be with him? Didn’t she deserve to be happy with him? She had been made to only see the Promised Land and she didn’t understand why.

She couldn’t help thinking. Was it worth depriving herself of all the excitement of sin, all the pleasures of the world, and ferociously fighting sin and temptation? Young men and women her age were still out there having fun in spite of all their wrongs and she was dying... dying so young. Life was being snatched from her even before it began. And the darkness, the darkness also confused her. She could feel herself slipping away yet it was still so dark. Where was the light at the end of the tunnel? Where was the God she had passionately served? Where was the peace she needed? Why was she still in pain? She didn’t understand.

And then, all of a sudden, the beeping filled her ears. The liquid ceased dripping and she felt herself floating as her heart skipped. Her body was covered in goose bumps and her eyes narrowed. The words of her favourite hymn run through her mind;
Forever with the lord
Amen! So let it be
Life from the dead is in that word
‘Tis immortality
Here in the body pent
Absent from Him I roam
Yet nightly pitch my moving tent
A day’s march nearer home.

My father’s house on high
Home of my soul, how near
At times to faith’s foreseeing eye
Thy golden gates appear
Ah! Then my spirit faints
To reach the land I love
The bright inheritance of saints
Jerusalem above.

So when my latest breath
Shall rend the veil in twain
By death, I shall escape from death
And life eternal gain
Knowing as I am known
How shall I love that word
And oft repeat before the throne
Forever with the Lord!!
She smiled so unbelievably wide and joy filled her soul. That was because finally, she saw it. A small stain of light in the darkness, which kept stretching until it burst out into blinding bright light, incomparable to any earthly light. It surrounded her and she was at peace. She got all the answers and she knew the reason why she was being taken. The world was too cruel to contain such a pure soul. A better place was fit for that worthy soul of hers. She couldn’t stop smiling and she couldn’t feel the pain in her heart anymore. She thought of no one and thought of nothing. She had the peace of God which passes all understanding in her mind and heart. It was an indescribable feeling...
Agyekum looked shattered when the nurse lifted the sheet off her face so he could see her. It looked like she was sleeping but no, Christina was dead. I couldn’t even say goodbye, he thought. He broke down in tears, and framing her face with his hands, kissed her on the forehead. The nurse had described how she had died to her fellow nurses on duty and she had said it with awe. “I can’t judge sir, but with what I saw, she is most definitely in heaven”, the nurse said. And she couldn’t help adding, “It was the most wonderful thing I’ve ever witnessed.” But how could Agyekum understand? The woman he loved had been taken away from him and it was being described as wonderful? It was cruel, that’s what it was. Cruel and heartbreaking! He wouldn’t understand. No one ever does, for somewhere in the Methodist hymn book, these words are written;
But the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God. And there, shall no torment touch them. In the eyes of the unwise they seem to die and their departure is taken for misery. And their going from us to be utter destruction, but they are in peace. For though they be punished in the sight of men, yet is their hope full of immortality. And having been a little chastised, they shall be greatly rewarded. For God proved them and found them worthy for Himself. As gold in the furnace hath He tried them and received them as a burnt offering. And in the time of their visitation they shall shine and run to and fro like sparks among the stubble. They shall judge the nations and have dominion over the people. And their Lord shall reign forever. They that put their trust in Him shall understand the truth, and such as be faithful in love shall abide with Him; for grace and mercy is to His saints and He hath care for His elect.
So you see? Death had been Christina’s greatest blessing.

Saturday, 24 December 2011


One star tonight, went dim
And so has the light in my heart
What wrong, I ask, what sin
Could take away that quaint
Loveliness that star possessed
And leave me with such bitterness?

One smile tonight, went stale
My eyes have thrown up a river
What thoughts,
I ask, could fail
One to sense
That an icy messenger had been sent
To take away the beauty in that smile
And leave me tasting bile?

One friend tonight, went home
My brain has taken a sleeping pill
What in the world,
I ask
I probe
Could cause Him
To take you,
So soon,
To another land
And leave me feeling numb?

Listen to my cry
Listen to my sigh
Listen to my prayer,
One more time
Father in heaven, you know best
Hold his pure soul in your bosom to rest
But give him this message,
Say it’s from me
The talkative he knew
Just a breath ago
Whisper it in his ears
“I will join you there,
We will meet
I will tell you all that went on
All that happened
After you crossed over”

Friday, 23 December 2011


I carried a heavy load of nothing
I traded my treasured gold for dung
I betrayed the hero of that ultimate love story
I climbed down the tallest tree
And burrowed down black soil

I possessed those idols
With all their vegetable nature
As the deadliest kind of poverty
Gnawed away at my soul

And after I set the table for dinner
I sat to a meal of rotten flesh
And drank of the most poisonous venom

I feasted with smiles
Smiles that never reached my eyes

Memories of that bloodshed
Were locked up in that tiny chest
Tucked away underneath tons
Of emptiness!

I went to sleep - total blackout
A vast abyss of pitch black darkness
No light
Nothing bright
No remnants of rainbows
No flowers
No colours.

Then morning arrived
After years of night
With a lone bird

In my ears, it whispered a name - a synonym of love
Every single syllable settled on my spirit
Tenderly, beautifully
As gold-dust
The rosebud bloomed
Emanating warmth
Blessed heat that
Thawed my frozen heart
Burned down my carnal wall
And set my gods ablaze!

Now my lips itch to sing a new song
Of the name that saved me from myself

Join me if you wish…let’s celebrate freedom
Sing with me if you can, let’s praise the victor
Along with the cherubs that descend to blend
Their angelic voices with the tarnished ones of
Mere, sinful, mortals


My occasional friend
I’m back again
With more tears this time
I’m sure it’s no crime

I do hate myself
I’m on the lowest shelf
I’ve lost my way
Stuck deep in quick clay

My mornings seem to come
With no dew or song
I dare not expect some
 I guess that will be wrong

Should I undo my veil of lies?
I wonder; do I even try?
I must wash out my messy brain
And pour my filthy heart down the drain

See, You offer me meat
You wonder why I’m still starving?
…Well, one by one, I pulled out my teeth
So how do I do the chewing?

Oh my bleeding King, why do you keep watch?
My forgotten love, why do you give so much?
My precious LORD… you’re still my sun
So why do I take up this world and run?

Saturday, 17 December 2011


Mr. Obeng was what I’ll call a green snake under green grass. To the outside, he was a poor widower who was taking good care of his only daughter and child, Awuraa. No one except Awuraa knew that inside the beautifully decorated exterior of Mr. Obeng’s closet were hideous skeletons. So it wasn’t surprising when her eyes remained dry after right before her, the man she had hardly called father writhed in pain and cried repentantly into the next world.

Some minutes after it was all over, Awuraa felt numb. She stared at the lifeless body of the once powerful man and her mind did the usual flashback thing. It had not been like that when her mother was alive. Theirs was a happy family. They did things together, supported one another and it was all love and sunshine. Then it all came to an abrupt end when she died. Mrs. Magdalene Obeng’s death was mourned by all and sundry. She was a kind-hearted woman and was a role-model to many young girls including Awuraa herself. Even after death, people still respected her. Awuraa finally shed some tears but more for the sweet memories of such a great woman who had been in her life but for a short while.

She was nine when her mother died, and for about a year after, father and daughter consoled each other. Everyone thought Awuraa was lucky to have such a father. And yes, she felt lucky herself then. When she was ten years old and for nine years since then, the whole scene changed. That day, she came back from school to find her dad already home, preparing supper. She went about her usual chores and hummed to herself as she always did. She remembered her father was rather absent-minded that day, but she attributed it to tiredness. She soon understood his strange behaviour when after supper, he ordered her to use his bathroom when she had said she was going to take her bath. She thought it strange but once again, she paid no attention to it. It was while she was bathing that Mr. Obeng entered the bathroom and what was he wearing?...Nothing!

At this point, Awuraa closed her eyes and kept them tightly shut. She feared she would go into hysteria if she allowed her mind to torture her so. She walked into the kitchen, away from the body that was grotesquely spread on the dining room carpet. She poured herself a glass of water and there she was again. Little Awuraa vividly embedded in her memories. She couldn’t help it: she knew she had to let her mind do its own thing. And so of course, it continued...Mr. Obeng had entered the bathroom butt-naked with a straight face and burning eyes that could singe the hair off Awuraa’s flesh. Little Awuraa was dumb-founded. She was holding the wet soapy sponge to her chest and as the lather slipped down her young firm thighs, Mr. Obeng turned hard with desire. Awuraa flinched as she watched the frightful transformation of his manhood. He walked straight to her and took her soapy, fragile hand. The sponge fell with a thud at her feet. Her knees buckled as her father placed her hand around his maleness and slid it back and forth. He moaned unashamedly and Awuraa cried in her confused state. He closed his eyes and kept repeating, “My little girl. I love you my little girl. I love you.” He went tense, let out a deep guttural groan and then relaxed, leaving Awuraa’s fingers dripping with his semen. He paid no attention to that or her tears. He just patted her bare buttocks and without a word, walked out, leaving his ten-year-old to ruminate on what had happened.
Awuraa gulped the water down her sore throat. It was choked with sobs. She cried for little Awuraa. She could see her crouched on her bed, crying hysterically. It had been the beginning of something new and unpleasant. Each night, it became her responsibility to do whatever her father wanted. For nine years she had to live with the pain and the shame.  She sometimes thought it was her fault and that she was being ungrateful because her father gave her everything she needed, everything but love. She couldn’t tell anyone. She went through it all alone, and as every day passed, she hated the man more and more.
Because she looked forward to a brighter future, she put her all in her education. She managed through basic school to senior high. When she had results for the external exams, her joy knew no bounds. She had passed so well, all she could think of was; going to the University and finally, most importantly, leaving home. This dream threatened to flow right down the drain when she discovered she was pregnant. She was carrying her father’s child. She couldn’t take it anymore; it was time for the man to listen to her. One morning, she looked directly into his eyes and threatened to tell the whole world what he had done. She flatly refused to get rid of the baby. Mr. Obeng was clearly shaken. He had to do something and he had to make it quick.

To top up all evil, he brought home the next day, some food. He had one purposefully for his daughter. He first put up a great show of apologising to her, shedding a few tears. Awuraa was surprised but she said nothing. He then asked her to join him for dinner, to which she obliged. He was so nervous while setting the table that, he placed the one meant for Awuraa at his side of the table. When she got to the dining room, Awuraa sat at her usual place and started to eat. In his haste to get everything over and done with, Mr. Obeng forgot how he had placed the food so he also sat and started eating.

He kept looking at his daughter, waiting for a sign. The man who had sold him the drug had said it worked really fast. Then he felt it; the pain and also realizing the truth. His eyes dilated to splitting point and welled up with tears. His whole life flashed before his eyes as he doubled over in pain. He could feel the heat of hellfire already. And looking into the confusion-dazed eyes of his daughter staring down at him, he started crying bitterly. It reminded him of that look. That same look in her eyes the day he started going mad. He confessed through his tears that it was he who had caused his impending death by attempting to poison her. The expressionless face of his daughter, looking down at his contorted face was the last he saw before he became silent... silent forever.

Awuraa rubbed her slightly bulged belly unconsciously and wiped her tears. She dialled the police emergency number as a smile played on her lips. She had remembered the popular Akan proverb that says, “Woto aduro bↄne a, ebi ka woano.”


It comes to me at night
When the whole world turns quiet
I have with me a pen, 
A blank paper
My thoughts, 
My heart 
Some cheap wafer
 I start to cry; 
I hear my mind
 I weep
Mostly I can’t seem to find
A way to make things better
Make my pains lesser
Then my tears begin to fill 
That plain white sheet
And I watch 
As it weaves me a colourful cloth
With its complex design... 
Its beauty
Baffles me  
I’m left in shock
As the colours rush out 
Like a flooded river
From my aorta...
Its source...
I shiver
Yet I don’t stop to think
When it gets to me from that side
My heart won’t let me do that thing
It won’t allow me take that ride
It’s because of the way I feel
And I believe,
 From the beauty of poetry, 
I will someday heal.


Is this stagnation I see?
Did the vultures come from?

We open up our mouths
Beg our own dogs 
Spit in them
Gather up dust
Throw it
In the corners 
Our eyes
And tomorrow 
We turn around 
Point our lean fingers
Towards history 
that has forgotten itself

Eager to tell tales 
Of accusation…
The very wedding party 
We sent invites to

We pull out our lips 
And get them pointed 
To pierce 
Through songs, 
That create
 A larger vacuum

Don’t you know
The predators sense 
The darkness?

The one who
Sets the trap 
Cannot be blamed much
It is the greediest 
Among the mice 
That gets itself caught

Let me have my say

Let me talk of the beams 
In our eyes
Crimes we have hid
Decaying truths
That we refuse to preserve

Enough of it!
You sadden me 
With pointless dilly-dallying
Trickle down 
My ashen face
Gripped with genuine fear
Of the vultures from 
Our own backyards

There's a center
I’m locked in it
All options are bitter
The strangers 
Are after me
I can’t go there

I can’t 
Go home 

Because last night...
You and I 
With our own hands
Took Home 
To the ceiling
And dropped her

She broke
Into tiny, 
my people
We slaughtered her
So don’t stand there
And give that speech
Don’t sing that song
That continues to blame
And forgets to answer
The questions
 Home screams at us....

From her grave