My Dei Tumi Moment

For the past month and a half, I have found it very tedious to come up with anything meaningful to write on. It is not as though I haven’t found topics. I started writing on how painful it is to be a creative person in this country, another one on a client who owes me and my crew money for the past three years for work done but is living the good life on social media and receiving all the accolades from organizations, royals in Ghana and the office of the president( as for pay di3 they will pay or I’ll pull a Jocelyn Dumas very soon), poems on various themes, my unfinished novel, and other projects I have to work on.
It just felt like I wasn’t connecting to the various things I had to write on. Imagine trying to connect to your kasapa GSM phone in this era when people are talking about 5G or being invited to dinner with your up the ladder girlfriend’s family only to get there and realize that your knowledge in medicine does not go beyond swallowing Panadol for a headache during the entire evening’s conversation because her entire family have individual PhDs in the medical field and are ‘booklong’ people and you, a hardworking pupil teacher in Kojokrom who just happened to be born at the other side of the ladder through no fault of yours. I hope you get the drift now.
I really love to write for fun but I have realized that I have been struggling to do so for a while now. I can’t actually blame it on writer’s block because I write when I’m contracted to do so. And so, I have come to the realization that my lack of enthusiasm for writing for fun is due to adulting and priorities. Like many of you, when the priorities of adulthood begins to knock you on the head like those French teachers who escaped the civil war in Togo and wore faded starched Khaki pair of trousers pressed with box irons with tucked in linen Lome shirts used to do to us back in the days, you’d realize your survival mood self-archives the things you used to do for fun. In its place you begin to worry about all your insecurities about life and mount pressure on yourself like pressurized cassava dough sacks overloaded in a rickety hard body Isuzu pickup truck descending the Kpeve mountain on a market day
So here I am wide awake after 1:00 am thinking about all those moments I couldn’t wait to become an adult as a child and thinking to my myself, Mehn, growing up is a huge scam. If you do not agree with me on this, then I’m grateful I’ve been of great help to you like a broken disco watch but if you do, worry not, for its shall pass if you really want it to or you’ll just end up like those sunken ships at Prampram beaches with no treasures and do not forget to clap for me and let the accolades flow, for I have just had a Dei Tumi moment with you as my audience.

 

Sing Babe! Sing

Sing babe

sing

let your voice soak our souls

in the dripping sacrament of our ecstasy

and ignite the night with our passions

for there is no reason of shame between us

we are a part of each other

flesh of flesh and bones of bones of each other

grinding to the wheel of fate steadily

 

sing babe

sing

let us get intoxicated with each other’s presence

as we feel the lyrics of our tongues’ music

when our lips collide with each other in a wild hive of desires

drawing an intense chorus of palpitating veins and hearts

causing our limbs to navigate the depth we swim in

let us breathe in deeply and hold our breath together

In a silent conversation where or bodies speak

and our hearts listen

 

sing babe

sing

let us glide on the wings of our voices

to touch the clouds that gloat to kiss our feet

whilst holding on to each other in a strong but tender embrace

and gently unfolding layers upon layers of raw and inert hunger

knowing that I belong to you just as you belong to me

let our bodies enter that utopian trance and convulse back to reality

remember that love brought us here

and it is that love that has set us free

stkg

 

 

 

 

 

 

A limping leaf waiting for rain

At first the sun rose in her eyes
she was a nymph in fairyland
the sun has been plucked out of her eyes
to her, beauty is dirt and pain mixed together
why can’t alkaline and water make her clean
or a bottle of aspirin would exorcise her pain?
maybe if she drank Holy water
or prayed in tongues, eyes would be opened
to see how messed up she is and redeemed
she might as well be a modern day female version of Isaac
who followed Abraham to the mountains for a sacrifice
with no knowledge of being the sacrifice, holy or unholy
she wants to feel loved and love
know and understand love for what it is and should be
but her horns are trapped in the bushes of her past
so she can’t ram down this wall of low self esteem
at 5 she loved the choruses of laughter he drew
from her soul as his fingers strummed her body with tickles
at 26 she quivers at the imaginations of how many times her innocence
was stolen with those same 10 fingers between 8 and 12
he told her, she brings him sunshine
but what sun casts dark clouds and sheds rains when it shines
now she is a living grave,
with no window or door to escape this entrapment of unworthiness
she fears the darkness but has no courage to turn on her light
she is a limp leaf waiting for rain

To love is to live
to love and be loved is to live fully
he is a star with his twinkle fading
his notion of love and trust is constipated
he believes being indifferent to love shown him is the norm
he is a sheep in wolf’s clothing
they say it is a phase
but the demons he faces are buried deep
in the marrows of his bones of his soul
that bleeds out his buried pain
calm on the outside
but broken like the walls of Jericho on the inside
every man must carry his cross they say
but how many crosses can one man bear?
he looks whole but is torn in pieces
like the garment of the savior shredded at Golgotha
is not the new creation he must be?
does what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger
apply to a living dead?
at 6, her arms was the fortress he ran to
when nightmares came seeping into his pleasant dreams
at 29, he repels love from any woman as though it is a plague
because at 8 he was trapped by a living monster he thought was his refuge
she told him he was a man
her man under the cover of the night or when they were alone
but he was just a boy
now he is a living grave,
with no window or door to escape this entrapment of unworthiness
he fears the darkness but has no courage to turn on her light
he is a limp leaf waiting for rain

stkg 2018©

 

stkg 2018©

 

IF ASKED TO DESCRIBE HER

I will tell them she’s the ninth time I tried to learn how to swim.

I will tell them she’s the salt in the sea that gives it taste. She is the sea. 

I will tell them she is asthma attacks.

I will tell them she is a purring cat.

I will tell them she never fails to roar and it is terrifying.

I will tell them she is hope in a broken promise.

I will tell them sugar is still sugar even when it is brown.

I will tell them I have seen reason in love not being a finished product.

It is a home constantly undergoing construction.

I would tell them I am everywhere except apart from her.

 

Ah Look!!!

We did not make vows
nor break rules

We just were painting a picture of love

With tears on a brush

You were the sun, I was what you wanted me to be
(that’s an irony, guys)

That is how we
chose our roles
That is what we
told our family.

We did not make vows
nor break rules

Instead, sunshine became a cold war
burning with a shivering effect

We did not make vows
For we drowned in the shallow ends
even before we could go deeper….arrrgh!

Look! Look what
we made us do
instead.
Pfft!

 

Inspired by Afya Kissiwa’s  poem ‘Ah Look!!’

 

Be Nice!!

Her head was buried in her book and so she didn’t see him approach her table. All of a sudden a shadow fell on her pages, causing her to raise her head and there he stood. He wasn’t particularly tall, he had a little goatee that looked as though it had been photoshopped onto his face. He was developing a little potbelly that would be a marvel when it matures but looked like a dilapidated yam mound in his tucked in shirt.

‘Do you mind if I share the table with you?’  He inquired,

Sylvia scanned the filled up restaurant as though he was talking to someone else, looked at him and without uttering a word, continued reading. Zee pulled the chair and sat down and signaled the waitress who brought him a menu which he scanned through. Before he placed his order, he looked towards Sylvia and spoke

‘Hi, can I get you something as a token for invading your space?’

Sylvia chuckled coyly, placed a bookmaker inside the page she was reading, placed the book on the table, gently raised her head and looked Zee directly in the eyes

Excuse me gentleman, did I tell you that I can’t afford anything here? Ooooh I look like a beggar to you eerh? Can’t a lady just be by herself without pervs like you bothering them? Mtcheeeew!!!

Zee was taken aback and embarrassed by her response to his request that he only could fake a sheepish smilein order not to respond in an equal measure, after all he was only trying to be nice after sitting at her table. Not wanting to draw more attention to himself from the other customers, Zee asked the waitress to let him know when a space was available so he could move.

For some strange reason there was no space available when the food Zee had ordered for was ready and so he was served at the table he shared with his ‘rude host’. The aroma of the food was so heavenly that it hit every damn nerve in Sylvia’s nose that her stomach rumbled like thunder. Damn if she had just been a little nice she would have had free lunch from this guy but hey the harm had already been done.  She raised her head and she locked eyes with him for a split of a second then she looked towards the entrance of the restaurant and then scanned the room. She then picked her phone from the table and began texting. After a while she let out a soft and muffled rant and a chuckle. Just then the table next to where they were sitting became free and without hesitation, Sylvia moved to it.

Zee couldn’t help but smile and shake his head at the turn of events. He tried to rerun the turn of events in his mind to see where he was at fault to warrant such a reaction from her but he just couldn’t find any.  He was contemplating approaching her when he was leaving the restaurant and dishing her a piece of his mind. He could feel himself begin to get angry. How dare she? She could’ve pushed Gandhi to violence with her acerbic tongue.  Lost in thoughts as he nibbled on the food in his mouth as he poked the one on the plate with his fork, Zee caught her at the corner of her eye getting up to hug a guy that had just walked in. Probably he might be her boyfriend, he thought to himself.  He smiled to himself mischievously and turned to glance at the gentleman who was being served a rant for being late.

Ooooooh shit! It was he’s university best friend and roommate Dan,

‘1bromo-2trichloro- 4ditwsetane’ he exclaimed!!! Dan turned and upon recognizing it was Zee got up and gave him a heavy handshake and hug amidst a volcanic laughter erupting from both of them.

‘Kwe agbormor when you land wey you no make I know saf? Charley you make fresh paaa ooooh’.

Daniel took a step back and sized Zee up before giving Zee another hug. At this point everyone in the restaurant was staring at the two who were somehow oblivious to the fact that they were loud.

Daniel then turned to Sylvia whose face had turned as pale as the flesh of an unripe mango and said, ‘Cuz, meet my homeboy Zee, the one you said you were dying to meet.’

 

 

Love is Beautiful

Nourish me with the firmness of your breast
As I bury my head in the valley of your beauty’s cleavage
Cause my heart to race with your touch
As you take my breath away with your warm embrace
Then resuscitate me with the taste of your lips
Juggle my thoughts with the swaying of your curvy hips
And let my emotions pendulum as you tickle my fantasies
I want to kiss you deeply with a fevered tongue inside your well of souls
Then drown myself in the pleasure of your womanhood
There I will allow myself to get lost in the scent and taste of  a pure woman
As I devour you without kindness and with my passionate rawness
I can almost hear the sounds of your rhythmic breath
Aroused as you whisper my name beneath the pleasure
Hold on, we are just friends now
But I dream of you as my lover
And so until that time when we can do what lovers do
Let these thoughts be a purgatory of desire