Skip to main content

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

Popular posts from this blog

God is My Barber

The sickness that made the Vulture bald
would have killed the Crow.

It is because
the gods are petty
and would not be questioned
about who they show favor to,
That Crows live to,
Squawk hysterically
At Vultures' misfortune.

We have come to understand, that,
when a petty god is your barber,
Crows, who can't afford a razor,
with their benevolent destinies,
will punctuate our precious peace
with their shameless snickering.

but
the Vulture
neither
pays any mind
nor
wages a war of words
with mockers and scoffers;
for the cure for baldness
is not found in the laughter of Crows...

*****April 4, 2017*****

http://morganes-photographe.deviantart.com/
My Second poem about Vultures. I really need to stop this...😂😂😂

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*****


Bedtime Epiphany of a Pining Heart

Tonight,
I contemplated
On things that were and were not,
On why
Light retracts different, in your eyes,
Like rainbows randomly ricocheting
Off my intangible thoughts,
Spellbinding...

On why,
Words sound different, on your lips,
How you laugh,
How the sounds take a path,
Across infinite dreams,
Into all my incarnations,
Into all my iterations,
Into all...

Tonight,
I concluded
You are a figment
of my imagination,
You must be...

For
God is not so cruel
That he made a Heaven like you
Then condemned me
To the Hell of perpetual longing
Wanting, and never belonging...

*****September 14, 2016*****