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The World Outside Mine by @quasiadu

If I should stand here
And speak my mind
I will speak of places
Places I have seen and heard of
I will even speak of the faces
That fill the spaces of my mind

I will speak of Korle
Bu, Dudor, Wokon and Gonno
And sickening stench from the Lagoon
That wafts gently through the air
I will speak of the dirtied skins
And the pregnant, half-fed bodies
Of women and girls
Who are desperate to find choices
They were never given

I will tell you
Of the harsh life of Kumasi Kejetia
I will speak of the curbside prophets
Sermonizing soulfully for their pockets
I will tell you about the beggars
In fraying dresses
From the lands beyond here
And I will speak of time
Time expiring towards emptiness

I will speak to you
About the other side
Of beautiful Accra
Of the attractive head porter
Whose life has oft been
A bias of the plain truth
Searching for the place
And the space that isn't there
I will also tell you of her child
Hungry for his mother's soured milk
His numb fingers holding on her
His world will end in weak chokes

I will tell you of a trade
Often recounted in whispers
And in hushed tones
Between beautiful bodies
And weak-willed men
In the winding half-lit streets of Cantonments
In the sweltering brothels of Adum
And in the indigenous outbacks of Cape Coast

I will tell you about the migrant
In the informal settlement of Ashaiman
Forgotten by fate
His mind is blind
The whole of it
Contained within fragments of indecision
And in the tempest of vague dreams
His hands are outstretched
Feeling the contours of the darkness
That slowly waits for colour
And the condition of certainty

I will speak to you
Of the Godless churches
And the virus of religion
That smothers the hopes of the people
I will tell you of the desperate woman
Questioning her fate
And looking up to a God so far away
She waits for the bequest of Heaven
And that great epiphany

From the fringes of Ayigya Zongo
To the streets of Metropolitan Accra
I will tell you of the child hawker
Who wishes he had just a moment
To indulge in the trivial
And childish extravagances of time
Patterns emerge and quickly fade
Before his eyes
There is a little sun
And a lot of gloom
A defeated song
And a daunting silence

I can only tell you of my obsessions
Ripe obsessions
Smouldering obsessions
And even dead obsessions
I can tell you of the moments you overlook
The waning lantern
And the perpetual darkness
Outside your lighted room

I am lost to the world outside mine
But I can only speak of it

- by Kwasi Adu (April 17, 2011)

Riding the Last Wave to Shore

A photo posted by Kwasi Adu (@quasiadu) on Aug 11, 2015 at 11:51pm PDT

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