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

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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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The Twenty-first Century; guest post by Maame Akua Annan

Time is fast fleeting

And as the world transmutes

A generation has unfurled

Where civilisation

Gets more palpable.

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Is there innocence in this age?

Little does the world know

Youngsters acting mature

Howbeit nurtured in a virtuous ambience

Grow to be peccant.

Welcome to the new age;

Where precocity is misjudged

To be prudence

Civilisation collides with culture

And probity traded for bread.

Are you then culpable in this age

Where innocence is misconstrued

As primitivity?

Or principles underestimated

To be mere fallacies

The Maternal Love; Guest post by Maame Akua Annan

Mother,

When nature paved way for my formation,
You received and kept me in your womb.

When the womb could no longer bear me,

You delivered me to see the world.

Mother,

You consecrated me to Christ

Since the world couldn’t allot me salvation.

You sent me to school

Inasmuch as the house was not conducive

For an auspicious futurity.

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Mother,

When the world castigated me,

You spurred me on.

But when I was led awry

By the delights of the world,

You chided me.

Dear mother,

I have pitched a monument of you

In my noble heart

That I will never forget you,

Your great love

And consummate care.

True Love; Guest post by Maame Akua Annan

​It doesn’t cost a penny to say hi
Neither does it fetch a dime to say bye

Cedi may Appreciate

Dollar might depreciate

But true love is inexpugnable.

It doesn’t call for a day to tie the knot

Neither does it clamour for a night to untie it

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Days chameleon to nights

And moments to seasons

But true love is adamant.

It never took the Saviour a century to live

Neither did it take Him a millennium to die

But the very substance that actuated the Father

To bestow His only son to the world

Is true love which never fades.

It never took your life to meet me

Neither did it take my sight to see you

But it will only cost true love to establish a dyad

And this love never abates

  The Red Rose

 In a garden are flowers along the periphery

With different scents and colours, 

But my soul did pine to one 

‘long stemmed red rose’

How I wish I could groom this flower 

To make it mine forever, 

But it had an ambiguous fragrance 

That put thine in the repose position

The world would utter, 

‘time and tide wait for no man,’

But I just can wait to have this flower 

To groom and make it mine forever

Reality

                                             

       Growing up under the weight of bigotry

                          leaves all uneven, 

         and every thing is left at six and seven 

       Silence, sometimes mistaken for sullenness, 

               may be an enemy to bigotry 

        just like the Lawd to His old vassal 

                                  RELOCATE!!! 

               For art is long but life is short.

SNAKE

Gliding over the rocks
Its shadowy eyes beheld the
Children beyond laughing without cares
Snake!!!
It can’t show its head
for a better view of the worlds happiness
So it retires into the dark bush
This lonely beautiful thing
Poets are like these outcasts
Jailed into our small worlds
Cursed with keen eyes
to see in detail, what they are missing…