Friday, December 21, 2012



The tongue tosses testaments,
every test I meant
to pass
that life threw my way,
plenty mistakes, I miss takes
like Asamoah since jan.
through to dec.
more than
just 24hrs in my day
it's a combination of
struggle and smiles,
tumbles and trials,
subtle and wild,
cold and calm,
Bane mindsets and Psalms,
you see this sphere suspends
in space with species of different kinds
but man is the ultimate plan,
the soul is source of control,
so as I was told,
forget the size,
it's the taste that matters most,
same as Adam was teased to taste what
Eve gave
there the serpent made slaves off the tongue..
so I tell you let the lips be the golden gates
which emit essence of life,
let agile hope leap in bounds
like traders on a donkomi day,
let inspiration wear on heads
like folded cloth under tomato sellers' trays.
my nouns jump gutters
to hug volatile verbs
crossing streets to the outskirts
where adjectives control traffic
of diction from the throat,
people of extraordinary talents,
public officers exploring targets,
persistent organizers entertaining timelessly..
                                                                       my words are mental missiles
that blow up brains
fit in ideas,
similes and food for thought
they talk about Rolihlahla Mandela and the 27 lost years,
they talk about our dying Lisas and mourners,
they question Nkrumah as to whether
after the message at Polo grounds,
Ghana automatically became free?
they rant about Rosa Park's I-won't-get-up,
they talk about an unarmed black boy and 41 shots,
Mississippi hangings and wall street sales..
where slave spittum evaporated and made skies pale
where our past falls behind us
like tattered rags
like a mother unties a baby
and makes him stand to walk
                                                  so does our future erupt
like my seasoned words
which talk about an Africa
red hot refined
washed off in its own tears,

disengaged from its dry dance
and economic fears
and bloodshed and its gullibility,
and its sons
and its daughters under one sun
who with ink of toil-stained sweat
are blessed to write a new page
to refresh the times
and a bright future after the gloom
and a change
or nothing else