My pen cries; Guest post

When dryness parted ways with Circle

And all extinguishers were upset

Innocent souls bade untimely bye 

To us who survived.

When the pillars of Melcom

Could no longer hold it to position

And licensed it ruins

The story of life was once again

Continue reading
Told by an idiot;

Souls left this phase of the world

To its second.

I know of just two seasons 

In my homeland Ghana.

Yet a time came

That we registered a third.

The season which birthed too much pain;

The suicide season.

 Let me pause a minute 

To console the affected;

Family, friends and the entire human race. 

I wish I could whisper

To them in their graves

That IT still lives

The very reason they died for,

Still lives. 

Sorry if the world was too small

To contain your quandaries.

The pain of the oppressed 

Is counted joy for the oppressor

The sanity of the innocent 

Never ceases to be naivity for the infidel. 

My pen cries tears of loneliness 

I am lonely like Amma Darko is.

If my modified breathe can’t call for a reform, 

Then my pen, my sword, 

Should stab this albatross of mishap

That hangs around our necks to death.

I sit on my couch 

To recollect those memories in tranquility 

Those days 

When we sit outside

From dusk to dawn

To enjoy granny’s tales

But what do we see today? 

The vices of this world

Have placed curfews on us. 

My pen cries weary tears for reform

The world can be a little better, 

If not the best.

My pen critiques negligence and indifference 

Let’s not be architects of our own problems.

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