Sunday, March 15, 2015


"Most men today cannot conceive of a freedom that does not involve somebody's slavery" - W. E. B. Du Bois

the gestation of a dream
inspires mind of heart; eternal realm
I saw your two soles stemmed as baobab barks,
branches of hands cut clean with alluvial gems
the torrential threats tossing torsos tracked
winds gathering like vultures on cold carcasses-
you swallowed under your wing
I saw you use your scars as a ladder
the well of your tears waited to impregnate countryside clouds
at the moody embrace of midnight mirage
You ironed out the wrinkles in your sail
You gunned for glory in a city of black ghosts 
where your scrolls were read through outcast eye of the sun
the ashes were swept through canon nostrils 
the gooey phlegm of imperialism pour at our feet
Africa, dying many times 
and the dirges still haunt us sleeping at the Polo grounds
using Nkrumah's bones as bed stands 
the cotton black wool of your hair as pillows
Padmore's marrows as strings in spread out sheets 
veteran soldiers who once laid down their gold coast lives
their lives their lives their lives their lives
sing lullabies lurid love stories of slavery 
internalizing the pain in sunshine rain
out here, I am also, like you..dreaming

Wednesday, March 04, 2015


Wherever the lessons of liberation bleed
Lion-hearts loyal line their tears with me
The struggle has been fought, 
But butchers branded in bulk
Bundle buoyantly and beam their bluff
Wherever the oozing, the blues of cold chop with
E. K. Kotoka on the string threads
Minds boozed red-faced under the blood shed
Millions of scalps merge, more than one louse
Spread above heads, 

Hands dust Hanoi huts, heaving hell 
Nkrumah, your own brothers left you with a lonely sail 
Even perforated like the post-independence dreams
And buried the books of shit-story
Burning the post-Goldcoast mood, bursting from brooks
Of embezzled banks of the mental leaving bitter buffoons,
Beckoning helluva imperialistic hunger and
Public orgies of intellectualism
About a hundred hierarchies, hacked heads bathed in anarchy, 
Rock-less ranks and file base, 

About brief mysteries mingling in every lie case
Carved in the naivete of superstructures borrowed from burrowed wounds
Enclosed in sandwich of colonialist bourgeois swoons
By the fireside fencing narcissistic monologues
A. A. Afrifa danced in circles too
Dictates via Rawlings' camo creeds displayed dirges of diktats

Tat for tits, sugar calls the ants
Gong gong stuck in armpits, drums dig the stunts
Wherever the lessons of liberation bleed
Lion-hearts loyal line their tears with me
Every pan African owns a pan for this tear breach
These raw years of eternal lies implanted in youthful minds
As the new phase invites lice to bald ears

Tuesday, March 03, 2015


You bow to the storms bumping into the sinews of your heart, you’ve babysat injuries of your ideologies from the start, the washing winds punching the firm frame of your face make you forget all the sweet smelling quotes about better days and inspiration from your mama’s good dinner plates, your chances of getting away from this lock of desperation you dread are limited, you’ve thought of being a Rastafarian but you dread the constant locks, you want to pork, this vehicle of restraint,  but it  looks almost impossible like a robot’s respiration, you end up wasted- it’s only a weekday, lethargy hangs over your weak ends, lecher-deep hangover before the weekend, you walk a world where everybody talks 6 feet, under your feet you feel the earth calls, you almost feel defeated even before you start a feat, your echoes hit dead walls, if success were a basketball dunk, you’d be throwing air balls, you entered the mall with tears as currency, you window-shopped all day and forgot to get doors, to your emotions, you’ve always been called an ocean, because you feel you’re sure but you wave in when you land and quickly retreat because you’re tide, the graph of your progress is a roller-coaster ride that runs under dark waters, the gradient is far from radiant and you’re that bothered, you almost want to drop your black converse and that crooked smile that pulls up most of your face into a punched pudding or after-effect of 6 shot alomo, you’re in the midst of people you call friends but feel that solo, you walk looking like the letter C crawling compressed out of Hitler’s concentration camp, your conversations are damp  like concerts wasting gushing fluid of faith from your bowels and turning you inside out, contemplating, you puke your wish-lists, your heart and your mind are at war, you try mopping crumpled opportunities smeared on the floor, you’ve many a time been called a misfit, if you were clothes you’d be fit for Kanye’s torn fashion business, you’ve started carving unknown hieroglyphics right on your wrists, you’ve thought of seeing a psychologist, next time the thought of suicide hugs you you might not resist, same suicide shadow you sense moving your marrows shows you a drop dead delicious pout and you might wanna kiss, you might want to stop to exist, you tight balled your fists, you eyeball the mist, you might want to strip, all the fabric fantasies of finding a future, you’re failing and that fall is swift,
But yeah you’re an ocean, you rise and explore, you surf  ashore and you soar, you break through when you land, you have a lot of beauty deep down in store, you look up to the sky and swirl and dance even when you’re blue, the whole world needs you, everybody wants to touch their feet to yours, you’re a bowl of wonder with a lot to share. You are an ocean!