Skip to main content

What We Are

We were Children once, innocent,
lost in an imaginary world without bars,
confusing faraway fireflies for shooting stars,
playfully skipping on the narrow paradise road,
believing that the purity of our hearts would get us there,
but the scales on our eyes finally fell off,
thanks to Men of God who teach and scoff,
commercializing the once narrow road to paradise.

We were naive once, ignorant,
living amongst pygmies and thinking ourselves giants,
reveling in the grandness of our little world,
intoxicated as we sipped our folly by pints,
nescient of contemporary teaching,
but we met men who towered above us,
we were humbled, re-educated, joined a new bus,
Exchanging one form of ignorance for another.

We are Men now, enlightened,
ours is a world of our own machination,
having learned the ropes of this world,
harmonized with the iniquities of our time,
we shrewdly shed our simple nakedness,
found a way to be immortalized in our prime,
bribed our way through the Pearly Gate,
having finally accepted the fallacy of our fate.

We are Wise now, educated,
schooled in the ignorance of the new world,
confident in our narcissistic grandiloquence,
basking under the rays of philosophical fantasies,
unconcerned about retribution or consequence,
cocooned in our borrowed etiquette and niceties,
we are wise now, educated, enlightened Men,
no more naive, ignorant, innocent children.

We are what we are now, nothing,
completely lost to the irony though not seeing,
having no true identity to call our own,
we are chameleons mimicking not being,
we are shadows of our former forgotten selves,
we are neither one or the other, just empty shelves,
echoes from a now disjointed distant past,
we are what we are now, nothing really, just...

*****September 20, 2010*****

Popular posts from this blog

They Don't Teach us how to Grieve

They don't teach young men How to grieve.

Be a man, Stand strong, Men don't cry, They say.
That's how we are made.
Somewhere, There's a conveyor belt Constantly chucking out Boys, with pent-up toxic emotions, Shoulders hunched under the weight of society's expectations.
There's a piece of wood in my mouth I bite hard on it praying I don't black out As I saw off another weakness I saw in the mirror.
Something about Better to enter the Kingdom With one arm...
I don't know...
A brother died today,

Bats at 37

When bats at 37 take to flight, At a quarter past four Or, whatever time Accra heralds the night,

When bats at 37 take to flight, For me, there's not a more beautiful sight Of creatures, imagined or real, That lay claim to these glorious skies.

When bats at 37 take to flight, With fevered screeches that punctuate the night When by sheer numbers they darken the skies And, below, people of a superstitious disposition Can not be bothered, I am reminded that, Given enough time all things cease to be strange.

When bats at 37 take to flight, Devoid of vibrant plumes unlike most things that fly, Rising like Legion and the hordes of hell, In defiance of extermination attempts, Above the Hospital in elusive figurativeness, Haphazardly, in sync, over constipated traffic There is not a doubt who owns the peppered night.

When bats at 37 take to flight;

Finding God

The inexplicable
Is proof there's a God.

This, for me,
Is where doubt began.
For if we know today
More than we did yesterday
Then, God is
a constantly contracting chamber of ignorance.

Now if it is so
And God is the Lord of gaps
Then men of religion
May be forgiven
For their unrelenting battle
Against knowledge;
The God killer.

But if God is
the beginning of wisdom
And his people perish
For lack of knowledge
And if we know today
More than we did yesterday

Then it stands to reason
That the God to believe in
Is an ever expanding explosion of knowledge.

I have no faith
In the God of gaps
For God must be Omniscient
And ignorance is not
This, for me, is where doubt ends.

*****April 22, 2017*****