sometimes i walk into silence
with all my clothes on, just so i can
distinguish myself from the mandala
spinning patterns in my mind,
circular motions
circles within circles and golden ratios
globes of colour and clouds of unknown
origin
strobe iridescent as wheels hum in
the distance
seagulls flock with Buddhas on their backs
and the tyranny of beauty is dressed like
a vulture
waiting
for fair game,

Even the dead are kept in mind, years after
Anniversary notices flustering to confirm
When your lineage stops in your generation
Our people say, you will be forgotten quickly
Your compound, overgrown with grasses
Termites build on walls, your house, no more

Except by the unforgettable things you did
Like the first man to walk on the moon
You may well be with the unnamed crowd
That lived, ate and slept or just existed
The living forget so soon and in turn
They are forgotten, even before they die

perched atop a tree
a falcon spreads its wings
ready to migrate

sunlight bursts through clouds
sipping dew drops on roses
kissing them awake

the shepherd is out
herding his flock of sheep
towards the pastures

a chameleon
camouflages dubiously
to pounce on his prey

like a Sage in trance
a lotus floats serenely
calming the ripples

a lone butterfly
flutters its colorful wings
in search of its mate

a gentle breeze plays
a melodious rhyme
on my window chimes

burned burden wheel
this toil under the blister sun
exposure always meted permanance
this shower shedding periphery ray

remember the golden moments
whose smiles worth bought freedom
from the wrath of wraiths
cyclonic tunnel syndrome
hurling hurts like sycthes runs

and when winter comes
and dreams awake from their
cool keep
I shall be patient
tolerant for their plaintive
enquiries into my denizen
collaborations

undaunted by swift arrows
a gazelle leaps
back into my heart
and the blue heron lifts me
with wings of ecstasy,
a god has awakened

now, where was I, oh,
I am writing a poem
about three lonely serpents
in the garden of good and evil,
everything is glowing
in eleven hundred shades of green,
it is raining softly or maybe my tears
are falling and the sea
ruins me

on nights when the rain embroiders doilies
i am writing to you to keep my hands warm
the rainpuddles are not forgotten and
i tell you that the next storm is coming
carrying crowns

on the streets, oil slicks
these are your rainbows
hung out to dry and
childhoods?

they are like our love
they are a beach
and i don't know the words i will write
until they turn against me
like an outgoing tide

you were the trellis the stars climbed
when you dreamed of me as
the sweet face of the moon

It is one more story how these bags came
Or to bear the name now, ‘Ghana must go’
Amongst traders, they carry their wares
Our parliament, said to have used it once
To carry looted money to bribe for a bill
Publicly displayed in-house to lobby and lure
For votes that will increase their incidentals
Emolument for security and tenure elongation

THE BITER BLENDED SWEET

The biter is her shell
The poison.
The anger
Mixed by secrets
Sometime she will tell

Her life
The hurt
The pain
So many questions
Of love
Unexplained

This was the bitter
In her life
This scar
Will not heal
To the day she dies

Never a life
Of trust
She always hides
Protected
Defending
The sweetness in her mind

TO BE A MOUNTAIN

To be a mountain!
Is too some, a life personified
Embodying the characteristic, of a mountain
Their volume of insecurity is larger than life
They need the allusion of strength
For solitude in their pride

To be a river!
Is freedom too some
Flowing without boundaries
The truth will not confine them
To face the lies, that they have become

In the solitude of blindness, you have found resolve. Choosing to see life in grays and black!
Your resolution a legacy in monochrome

Simply your eyes only see pain in the archives of your heart. However, before this pain there was bliss, the sublime kaleidoscope of trust and love
In this solitude of blindness what will your truth become!