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Showing posts from 2015

The Sinner's Prayer by @poetra_asantewa

Our father
who art in mystery
fallow be thy save
Thy kingdom pawned
Thy will be redone 
From earth
There will be hell's rebirth Give us this day
Our failing terms
And forgive us
our hidden sins
as we forgive the trespassers
who are unlucky to be caught
You needn't lead us into temptation
There's enough evil lurking
For we mirror the kingdom
And struggle for too much power,
not enough glory
Forever and ever
Or nah
- By @poetra_asantewa
Check out her EP Motherfuckitude


I first discovered @AfroBloggers when Naa Takia tagged me in one of their tweets. 

I loved the account immediately. I get to exchange tweets with Bloggers all over Africa. It's a bit like +BloggingGhana

One of my favorite things about the account is Wednesday Poetry Night. Trying to squeeze a poem into 140 characters is more +Naa Takia's thing than mine but I always give it my best shot.  

Celebrating Africa:  This babel of languages Some day a harmonious choir This kaleidoscope of colors One day a warming quilt Africa Orchestra in waiting #AbWPE — Efo Dela (@Amegaxi) November 4, 2015It's amazing the number of languages in Africa. There almost no who has lived in Africa for more than 5 years who speaks just one language. In my neighborhood so many languages are spoken and somehow we get along perfectly.  

When my nose No longer is assaulted By the aroma Of some random neighbors' Well seasoned cooking, I know I'm far from home. #AbWPE — Efo Dela (@Amegaxi) November 4, 2…

My Fears

My fears,
they are
unmovable mountains
huge in size.

I told myself I need the exercise
and began to climb

*****October 28, 2015****


Jigsaw Hearts

The pieces of my broken heart,
they fit perfectly with yours.

We are perfect
because we are broken.
******October 14, 2015*****

On Democracy

Democracy is so overrated. — House of Cards (@HouseofCards) October 14, 2015
More than ever,
they are killing people in Libya;
Long after the West uprooted Brother Muammar
And 'gifted' his people democracy.
Long after they hanged Saddam to dry,
They are killing more than the tyrant ever did,
But the West, they say it was worth the try,
Long after the CIA
Like Magi from the West
Gifted Ghana democracy,
Removing Nkrumah at Greed's behest,
Neocolonialism is today's democracy.
The damage is called acceptable,
blood, the currency with which we purchase our misery,
But it's democracy,
The West, they know what we need best.
My math is bad,
But last I checked,
They added up to Democracy.
*****September 9, 2015*****

I wrote this is a string of tweets while my mind was fuzzy from battling insomnia. I had no idea what I was doing. I checked them out this morning and they made a decent poem so enjoy and let me know your thoughts…

At Peace

I experienced tranquility,
And hope, if I dare say.
All isn't lost,
And the torn can be mended.
Just when I stopped looking.
*****September 27, 2015*****


The demons that plague my fractured mind
are kept in check by my plastic smile,
Their tormented screeches
masked by my exaggerated laughs.
I am Legion...
*****September 10, 2015*****


The sea spat out a dead boy;
Images of him, peaceful as can be,
Spread faster that the fires engulfing the evergreen pines of Damascus,
He, was far from home.
The sea spat out a dead boy;
The bile laced tears of his father
Poisoning Poseidon's supper
Till he retched him onto the shores of our conscience.
The sea spat out a dead boy;
Images of him
Haunt this writer's restless dreams
But he's selfish for making this about him.
The sea spat out a dead boy;
Punctuating our morbid obsession
with the scandalous lives of the idle rich,
Tickling artists and poets
Because, inspiration scavenges on tragedy.
The sea spat out a dead boy:
And politicians, men of religion
On grandiose stages,
in verbose speeches,
Said, "Never again",
Just like that other time.
The sea spat out a dead boy:
Images of him wrenching from the subconscious,
Images of another child stalked by Death himself.
What happened to that child anyway?
The sea spat out a dead boy:
His soul joini…

Kamikaze Heart

Kamikaze Heart
Love and self-destruction
Kamikaze Heart
No glory
Kamikaze Heart
Hero is broken
Kamikaze Heart
Suicide mission

Kamikaze Heart
Sacrifice forgotten
******July 22, 2015*****

Scarred Goddess

She showed me her scars
from before she became a goddess,
And I, in vain, willed my heart to be still,
Knowing she was just out of reach.
Each scar was its own gospel,
The scriptures of her sanctification,
I read them and felt unworthy,
My addled heart humbled in supplication.
Then she ascended into the heavens
Like all goddesses do,
And I, the earthbound mortal, pined away
For the scarred goddess always out of reach.
*****June 16, 2015*****

This poem is more about the said lady than the speaker.
Have you ever wondered how people become their awesome selves? The trials and tribulations they sometimes have to overcome to get to be what we admire so much? 

Mocking Rains

The gods got jealous
and the heavens went darker,
I got to meet you, they did not.
These rains,
They must be tears of laughter,
I fell in love, you did not.
*****June 13, 2015*****


And these are the works that forged us:

- A Death Foretold,
- Songs of Sorrow,
- Grains and Tears
- Night of My Blood,
- This Earth, My Brother,
- Rediscovery…

Words that hammered our thoughts
Into tempered steel
that broke conventional wisdom
Building in their place irreverent totems
And you were the anvil.

It was in temple minds like yours
We sat, threading words into prayer beads
With which we contemplated the universe
And what was in it thereof
Living in readiness for the coming of enlightenment.

When we have rebuilt the temples of Enlightenment
In the manner in which you taught us,
and in them found remembrance,
Then and only then
Would we have found the true meaning of Rediscovery

*****April 30, 2015*****

*Nufiala: Ewe word for "Teacher"

-A Death Foretold,
-Songs of Sorrow,
-Grains and Tears
-Night of My Blood,
-This Earth, My Brother,

These are poems by Kofi Awoonor

Awoonor: Lost in Limbo

The Earth has come full circle, Since you were riddled.
You can come back home now,
Traveler spirit running round the Kenya.
Since Death in his pettiness
Whispered your name far from home,
Your spirit is restless far from your grave,
Lost, in a land where they speak some other tongue.
But you are the Master Weaver with a Silver Tongue,
Spin words so silky they mellow Death’s heart,
Then climb from your faraway Limbo,
And came back home to us,
You Soulful Spirit, escape Kenya to the Afadjato.
*****April 22, 2015*****

Crimson Rainbow

They are lynching people in South Africa, Long after apartheid,
Not so long after Tata died,
Nightmares still sprout on streets,
Fertilized by the blood of fleeing immigrants
And we are force-fed its bitter fruits.
They are lynching people in South Africa,
Called the rainbow nation;

Watch as
Light refracts through the tears
Of a brother's helpless lamentation
As machetes drum his back,
In cringe-worthy rhythms,
crimson, the only color in his rainbow.
They are lynching people in South Africa,
Feeding hungry newspapers with stories for days,
Till it all gets old,
And they crave for more stories
Of us killing each other for some other petty reason.
They are lynching people in South Africa,
And Goodwill sits in majesty,
While ill will greets another stranger,
But his majesty will not be blamed.
They are lynching people in South Africa
And all I can think is
"Xenophobia is such a nice word for this madness"
*****April 17, 2015*****

Morning People

Morning has broken,
And we,
Trudging through its monotony
Struggle to make sense of life
Till it’s night
When we brim with energy
But must sleep.
Tomorrow, Repeat…
*****April 16, 2015*****


It’s two days to a hundred
Since you walked away
Without looking back.

It occurred to me
That sometimes
Home is a Person, not a Place.

*****March 24, 2015*****

Anokye Contra Yehoshua - by Martin Egblewogbe

It is of great interest
to compare Yehoshua and Anokye;
The latter murdered in his deep sleep
by the firing of a musket –
the gun not even pointed at him.
From such a death there is no resurrection:
thus perished the hope of a Guan elixir.

Mark here one notable divergence:
Whereas Yehoshua is documented four-fold or more
Anokye lives on in a multitude of tales
Each morphing in time and space.

So in the remote gospel according to McCaskie
Anokye approaching the town discovered
it was his own funeral in full swing:
Disgusted, Anokye turned and walked away,
presumably into the forest, and thus disappeared.

Yehoshua, on the other hand,
was done to death in a most grisly fashion,
hanging from a wooden stake for all to see –
and how can we not shed a tear, a tear! at least.
Yet Magic Man even in death, Yehoshua fled the grave!
He rose from the dead! and for emphasis,
rose also into the air and thus disappeared.

It may well be
Magic Men all like to vanish
preservéd bones are not the fashion
for prophets thus revered.

The Making of a Doctor

She said her older cousin touched her, in a naughty way,
And his father too,
Mummy smacked her on the lips,
And sternly said,
"good girls don't tell lies".
While Mummy was at Choir practice,
Uncle came to her room, again,
Just an hour after his son, unknown to him,
He smiled at her,
And asked,
"Do you still want me to pay your fees?"
She walked funny to school,
Remembering to smile
With each painful step. 
Then she thought to herself,
"if I'm a good girl,
Uncle will pay my fees,
Then I can become a doctor,
Then Mummy will believe me;
Everyone believes doctors"
That made her smile...
*****March 18, 2015*****

Ruins and Regrets

we labored to make this wasteland an oasis,
And on it built a home
Envied by men and gods.
One night,
In your rage,
You took a battering ram
And reduced it to ruins and rubbles.
Then, morning came,
And your rage receded,
But your regrets
Couldn’t put it together again.

A Lesson on Wars

The war in Rwanda;
It is Three Blind Mice and the Farmer’s Wife,
Killing strictly by a Machete or a Carver’s Knife.

The war in Uganda;
It is an epic Christian battle,
The Lord’s Resistance Army in Satan’s scuffle.

The war in Sudan;
It is basically a narcotic induced deed,
Thanks to stoned Rebels from the Janjaweed.

The war in Liberia;
It was a maddening fashion hitch,
Charles the Tailor left them in a bad stitch.

The war in Sri-Lanka;
It is full of wildlife identity dilemmas,
Tiger Rebels becoming lowlife Guerrillas.

The war in Iraq;
That's the American second-hand one,
A Hand-me-Down from father to son.

The war in Afghanistan;
It is a gloomy environmental crisis,
We watch as the ego-fuelled Bush fire rises.

The World War by Hitler;
In came the Allies and two bombs did they deploy,
On Nagasaki Fat Man and on Hiroshima Little Boy.

*****30th January 2008*****

Just found this old poem lying somewhere and decided to share it