Thursday, March 08, 2012

>This is to the woman>

This is to the woman

This is to the woman

This is to the woman

Whose voice leaves
Soothing echoes numbing the senses for split seconds
Like 'alasa' on the taste-buds,
This is to the woman
Whose laughter vibrates like djembe thumps
Whose tear is mopped before it shows
Staying low-key like an upside-down piano
But mind-state speeding with thoughts
Like a bus from Tema to Tetteh Quarshie via motorway en-route..
This is to the woman
Who teaches about God, the storm and the rainbow after
This is to the woman

Each day wakes with dreams for breakfast
Her sleep, of several breaks
But she turns even before the crow of the hen
The dew of the lawn with her eyeballs blend
Reflecting the glossy perm,
Which she wears to keep the eye of her man directed home
But that man's eyes have been blind to time;

"Today it's 'koko' for breffis, one 'kose' each"
It's early day, the children have to rush to school
Now she can rest her breasts
Like a sagging seine emptying a school of fish.
Each kid will carry along their hobbies;

*Adwoa Boaduwaa wants her sewing kit,
*Akosua Bridgette needs her french colouring book,
*Nanayaa J. needs her 'broni-ba'
*The only boy wants 2 'boflot' balls

Her sweaty brow, her streamlined back,
Her folding bowel,
Her mean stare behind a comforting smirk planted on her face
Rooted to a heart of hope
Like God did 'cut and paste' of a storm mellowed behind a rainbow cheer.
She struggles with what the day brings to table
And mostly life's been a tale of musical chairs
In order to pinch some metal currency to the bottom of craggy duffel bags

Cowering like a tower's golden bell when the afternoon sun
With a strong invisible arm de-juices the calm
We see her sewing torn armpits of shirts
And taking down our dry clothes from the line
We clean off every trace of ice-cream from our lips
Before we run into her bosom, chiming like cutlery in a clatter
Smelling like a spray of skunk sneeze and looking like we've been powdered with red earth
We hug on her together, tightly
She succumbs though the feeling is like being hit in the face with a foul ball of moldy bread

The boy plays little soccer
And is an amateur gymnast,
The girls play girls' games like 'ampe',
Cooking with sand in miniature coal pots,
And tapping continuation of 'kokonsa' episodes with sharp antenna ears, etc

"Do your homework and you'll each get a chicken piece on top of your jollof"
Wow! God bless mummy's jollof
With little pieces of beef hidden
Like precious dodgeballs in jouncy heaps
We search and find.

With an orange frown, dusk, the town-crier for night returns.
So vividly, evening rushes in blind-
As blind as a bastard's thoughts of a possible dad.

Like blue-black cloth-wraps
Night forms around the light of moon.
Keeping the warm radiance in the semi-circle of a smile,
She swats
"That mosquito doesn't know how to tickle,
It's okay child"
She sez
It always is
She prays.

Our backs are balm-ed after showering
Our wounds are soothed with her soft creasing fingers
Her greasing lingers
Like her lullabies
We sleep to them always, before they end.

This is to the woman
Who only spares the rod if the teaching staff would do the job
This is to the woman
Who stared long at the moon, a golden egg in the nest of dark skies,
This is to the woman
With mid-nightmares of attending to new cradles
In the folds of her scarf bundled on her head,
This is to the woman
Stained with trickles from the womb at the end of each month,
This is to the woman
Wishing for menopause but not wishing for its side-effects,
This is to the woman
To whom nine months is the span of a year,
And the physical deformations after
Are signs of her abundance to share,
Each breast milk drop, of life,
Each scar on her womb, a tattoo dear
This is to the woman

My mother
This song is to her ear
This is to
Every woman who has a story to share

This is to your tear.

(c) KW 08 March 2012


  1. Beautiful piece.
    A fitting tribute to all African women and women everywhere on this day.
    Respect to women for their sacrifices.
    Happy International Women's Day

  2. So's soft like a piano ballad. A very fitting tribute for the day.