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Who we are

Who we are

This is for the one whose pride now lives at the refuse dump

And is constantly receiving hair cut advice from the vultures

The one whose dignity has been trampled on so many times

its closest relationship is with the patch ground on which it lies

This is for the one who has been told many times that beauty run

in the opposite direction when they first met

and that her ugliness drives the devil to accept Christ as his Lord and personal Savior

This is for the one whose fears have become visions

tied to the cloth of reality

This is for the one who feels lost in the maze of life

And feels his progress is taking him nowhere

This is for you

This is for me

This is for us

Wait!

Stop!

Breathe in!

Breathe out!

Smile!

Relax!

Take a good look at yourself, you are here for a reason

Let self-love be the wind the glides your sail to the land of self-worth

Gather your tools and make love to the fertile soils of your dreams

Let the refuse dump be compost for the flowers of your dreams

to bloom and pour perfume forth on the pestilence of ill advice.

Let your dignity’s domineering shadow be the only thing the patch ground sees

Fuel that light in your heart and let your beauty shine

For you are beautiful than you imagine

And please remember, you are the child of the centipede

Losing a limb will never cripple you.

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Posted by on April 29, 2016 in Poems

 

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Hush

Hush

Dedicated to all the Women who are QUIET about their ABUSE
Hush, woman don’t you cry
I am the last person to whom you will say goodbye.
So she cocoons herself in pain she tells no one about

 

Hush Woman don’t cry.
I love you that is why I beat you when you go wrong
I did not pay so much bride price for you to make such flimsy mistakes
So she accepts pain as love and believes she deserves it all.

 

Hush Woman don’t cry
I am the Lord of this house and so my word is final
Any action that contradicts mine deserves punishment
I am your god and you must bow to me
So she worships him out of fear and calls it love

 

Hush Woman don’t cry
You deserve all these, you stupid slut
Don’t even think of leaving me
If you do, I will hunt you down like the rat you are and kill you
This is not a threat, it is an assurance.
So she locks herself up in this doorless jail, believing she is unworthy of true love

 

Do not hush woman, please cry out.
Do not let your silence be where you bury your pain
Good times are not meant to be seasonal
Unlock that shackles in your mind because you deserve every bit of happiness
Break out of that cocoon of pain and fly out spreading those beautiful wings
There is nothing to be ashamed of, so speak out
Before your hush and hidden tears, leads you to the grave

Selikem Tenu K. Geni 2016 ©

 
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Posted by on April 22, 2016 in Poems

 

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The Ugly Duckling

The Ugly Duckling

Aside the new building that had sprang up in place of the mud house that housed his family, the old neighborhood had not experienced any significant changes. The road was still as dusty as always and Castle du Assiam as they called back in the days still sat on top of the hill casting a menacing shadow on the other houses at the foot of the hill. The new paint work made it stand out like the clean shaven head of a big headed child. Memories began to trickle down Kuuku’s mind and all he could let out was a chuckle. As the taxi wiggled itself up the hill like a pepper worm, it’s body began to vibrate due to the bass from the music blurring out of the house. He remembered how he and his seven other siblings in their old but new dresses will line up at the gate of the Assiams during festive seasons to receive gifts of sweets, biscuits and squash from Mrs. Assiam. He had always admired that woman and it was going to be great seeing her again. He just was not sure if she was going to make him out. As kids he remembered always being the bone of contention between Sika and her friends. There were times he even got ganged up on and beaten by her elder brother Jones and his friends just for being around her. One time it got so bad that, his Mother made him promise to stay away from any of the Assiams after he got home with a torn uniform and had two missing front teeth. Up till date he still remembered what she said that night as she nursed his wounds. ‘Kuu, when the lizard and its cousin the gecko decided to have a party a butterfly must avoid attending it no matter how enticing the invite is.’ Secretly he still maintained the friendship with Sika till she left for the UK after primary six and that was eighteen years ago. When he received a friend request from her two years ago on Facebook, he was not sure whether it was actually her. Even after accepting her friend request it would take him another two months to respond to messages she had sent and that was when their friendship rekindled. Over the next year they skyped almost every day with each other, and exchanged tons of messages via whatsapp. It was as though they were trying to cover lost grounds. Gradually his emotions began to gravitate towards love and so he told her how he felt about her. When she told him she couldn’t be with him, he felt sad but grateful that they were still very good friends. Deep in his heart he wished that things would change between them and was willing to be patient for this to happen. Two days ago, he received a phone call from an unknown local number and it was Sika. She said she had just arrived in Ghana and was inviting him for a party at her father’s house that weekend.

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Truth be told Kuuku was not sure whether he was doing the right thing or not. Going to this party meant opening closets he was not ready to open yet but as fate would have it Sika had insisted that he come at all cost because she had something important to tell him. Just as he got out of the taxi a saloon car speed towards him and nearly rammed him into the gate. Then a head pops out from the driver’s side and hauls cusses at him ‘idiot do you think this is your bedroom’. As the car drove past him into the house, Kuuku realized it was Max, the guy who was madly in love with Sika when they were kids. Indeed nothing had changed about his attitude. Smiling coyly to himself Kuuku entered the house and after scanning through the crowd walked to an empty table and sat down. A waiter walked up to him and asked what he cared for. Then a sweet voice gave a response from behind him

‘A mixture of Orange juice and pineapple juice spiced with a shot of vodka will do’ replied Sika to the waiter who was taking Kuuku’s order.

Smiling, Kuuku got up from his chair and hugged her knocking a few glasses off the table. He pulls away from the hug, looks at her from head to toe, signals her to do a three sixty turn and hugs her passionately again

‘God you look so stunning girl. Now I’ve realize how much I have missed you’ he whispered into her ears

Sika was lost in her own world in his arms. He smelled really nice and looked more handsome than she had imagined. Indeed this was the right time to be in his arms. Just then the music went off cutting and blurring out of the speakers was Max’s voice.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, Can we now have a speech from the lady of the moment my lovely wife Sika. Sika where are you? We are waiting.’

Wife? Wow! Reality has a way of handing rude awakening to the dreamy ones Kuuku thought to himself. Now everything was making sense. Embarrassed by Max’s attitude, Sika wished the ground would open its mouth and swallow her. What would Kuuku think of her now? As the crowd turned towards her and started clapping, Max rushed to her side and virtually dragged her to the microphone stand. With the microphone now in her hand she looked towards where Kuuku was standing, but he was no longer there. Her heart sunk and her feet began to wobble.

‘Errrm, Ladies and Gentlemen thanks for honoring my invitation. To set the records straight Max is my ex-husband who I think has had a little too much to drink. With that out of the way, Let’s have fun. DJ let the music play.’

Sika dropped the microphone and dashed towards the gate screaming

‘Kuuku! Kuu! Kuuku! Wait! Don’t goooooo…’

Just as she got to the gate she saw a taxi speed off. Overwhelmed by what had happened she broke down in tears. Now she has lost the one true love of her life thanks to Max. Just then she felt a tap on her shoulder she turned and it was Max. She felt like tearing him into pieces and scattering it at the four corners of the earth so that no one could piece him together. There are indeed some devils in one’s life that stick like a shadow.

‘Gosh, please get out of my life. Dear Lord, let this divine representative of stupidity vanish’ she yelled tearfully.

As she walked past him, Max grabbed her arm violently and she flinched in pain, then out of nowhere appeared Kuuku.

‘Charley, let go of her, you are creating a scene’ Kuuku retorted

Sika broke free from Max’s grip and rushed into Kuuku’s arms. Her tears rolled off her beautiful cheeks and hit his chest like pellets from a gun. He could feel a mixture of contradicting emotions emanating from them and somehow felt glad that she indeed had feelings for him that she was no longer willing to hide. Then from nowhere a punch landed squarely on his face from Max. Instinctively he Kuuku also threw a punch in Max’s direction but with Sika stuck in between them, he could not hit the target the way he wanted to. He rushed to Sika’s rescue and virtually picked her from the floor. A small crowd had gathered in front of the house during the scuffle and among them was Mr. Assiam. He signaled Kuuku to bring Sika into the home. As the two love birds walked past him, he smiled. Just then Max made a move towards the house but was stopped by Mr. Assiam.

‘Max, go home! You’ve caused enough mayhem for a night.’ With this said he turned and entered his house.

 
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Posted by on October 30, 2015 in Fiction

 

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Your Beauty

Your Beauty

Tapestry of the finest kente can’t compare
I’m drawn to you like the magic of a satisfactory sigh
Like a snake I dance to the charm of you
You’re the night sky brightened by the stars, I gaze at
Each blink revealing something new and blissful
On the surface you are calm but your depth I’m yet to fathom
You behold me with a pleasing eye, I surfeit with excess of joy
Draw me in the bow of your comfort and shoot me on a journey
Far beyond the mind’s comprehension
It reflects in your smile
It calls from your voice
It resounds in your being
No amount of make-up can conceal it for it’s your true nature
I have died many times
But you raise me up each time with your beauty.
i2LAwXrM

 
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Posted by on September 22, 2015 in Poems

 

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We Have Lost a Song (Tribute to Kofi Awoonor)

We Have Lost a Song (Tribute to Kofi Awoonor)

We find ourselves at the confluence of tears and pride

Our feet and arms too weak to paddle us across the river of sorrow we drown in

The songbird that chirps the songs of our ancestral beauty has been shot down

And the wind echoes the deep silence it has left behind

The warmth in our songs has been stolen

Now the cold cloth of pain and loss embraces us

As though we share a common lineage

They have indeed poured bile on our tongues

But we are the sons and daughters of singing hunter

The great warrior whose potent weapon was his tongue

Which unfolded many leaflets of life’s songs

Hidden from every day’s eye

The hunter whose tongue was the anvil of on which

the rebirth of our songs was forged

The warmth of your voice that lingers in the ears of our hearts

Gives us hope as we carve your name in the hearts of our history

 

The feet of our emotions wobble like cassava leaves in the dry winds

We lift our calabashes of our ears and hearts to have them filled but

you are not here to serve us

And so we burn  of thirst

The sun has pulled a dark blanket over its face

so Agbenorxevi hums it’s song rather than sing it

and the  morning dew perspires as our tears water the grounds on which we stand

So the river bird sings of you not returning

For you had crossed the boundary to the other side of no return

We do not believe you are gone away

But alas, the river bird never lies about crossings

 

 

‘Wobɛ ahloɛ medoa nyi fɔkpa ooo

Yata Nyidevu amekea nebe ne do woa afɔkpa?’

Hmmm ati ga ade mu,

Nɔfe adeke mega li na xeviwo woa dze

Adzi ha viviwo nami o.

 

Today we long to hear your voice echo in the valley of

The blooming cornfields of life

Ready once again for you to set our spirits

on journeys of real identity discovery

With our mouths metamorphosing in to beautiful butterflies of smile of gratitude

That developed from the cocoons of our hearts

 

Yet the hunter, whose greatest weapon was to songs of his tongue, is mute to our calling.

 

Mute to the sounds of these same hollow pipe that spat metal pillets

That stole the breath of your song

The elders say there is nothing the eye will see that will make it shed blood

But they lied for the eyes of our hearts shed tear of blood etched on scrolls for you

Though your silence is deafening

And the distance between us undefined

We know Kitikata will wipe our tears with the gentleness

Of your undefined memories that are as soothing as a bed of detifufu

As we are assured that you still live on in our hearts.

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on October 7, 2014 in Poems

 

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Open Letter to President Mahama.

Open Letter to President Mahama.

Dear Mr. President,

Well for formality sake, let me just ask how you are doing before I proceed. I hope Lordina is keeping her promise of serving you a sumptuous bowl of Tuo Zafi and dawadawa soup every Wednesday evening as she promised to when you became President. To be honest with you I won’t say we’ve not met before and for your information, I have always admired you from afar as a celebrity. Oooh yes, a Politician celebrity. It even got to a time I was thinking of asking you to represent Ghana at the big brother house but decided against it knowing the temptations that abound in that house. I really hope you do not mind me calling you John or any other pet name I deem very necessary to keep the conversation flowing. I know by now you are beginning to wonder why at all I decided to write you this letter but don’t worry, I’m not one of you detractors. I’m writing this letter to actually say thank you for being yourself and for doing what you are doing.

Jonny boy, I get very livid when I hear people say you are not a good leader. What do they expect? This is actually what they get for not learning from their mistakes. After all, by now they should know that, the fact that the Zongo he- goat has a beard does not make it a contender for the chief Mallam position. If the people willingly make the He –goat the Mallam because of its beard then they must be ready to chew cassava leaves. Today, they say electricity, tomorrow they’ll say water, yesterday it was fuel. What at all do they want you to do before they realize that you lead a listening government? I know that as for the listening you are really doing that, it is just that you are not sure of what to do so you end up doing nothing at all.

Jonny just this week, some friends of mine were annoyed that you did not fire Elvis and Yamin for the Black Stars fiasco in Brazil. Me I just laughed ooh. If they know what you see especially when you put those your spectacles on, they wouldn’t even bother. Fine boy things no be ‘gidigidi’ ooh. Have they forgotten so soon that you are the only president in the history of our country that has an individual who is an institution on her own working for you? Do they know the value of one ‘tsoboe’ by Elvis during your campaign period? Were we not all here when Samini was charging GHC 2000 for shooting one ‘kpoe’ at musical events? Now to the issue of Yamin, after Rawlings, how often have we seen what the NDC World Bank calls ‘Yevu du agba’ say things on National Television that draws intense national discourse and goes international? As a concerned big brother, I know you didn’t want Yamin to look bad that is why you released the jet and the money to ‘Bryzil’. This is a simple boys boys move that I feel everyone should understand. Errrhm my only worry is that I hear there is an unaccounted for 1.2 million. Abeg I be your boy so make I know something when the time to share comes.

 

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Yesterday I realized that Ghanaians are very wicked people. Why are they crying foul on this issue of part of a loan being used for sanitary pads? Look Jonny boy, I agree with you, we must give sanitary pads to school girls! It’s a matter of life and death! Their futures depend on it! Mind you the pads will be imported and the GFA boss Kwasi Nyantakyi will be in charge of airlifting it with support from Elvis and Yamin! If they like they should go and burn the korle lagoon. Have they not realized that up until now our young girls in SHS have been using ‘amonsin’? They need to use pads, no, they will use pads. Now this is QUALITY GIRL CHILD EDUCATION. But Jonny Boy, kindly make sure that in the next loan, allocation is made for free champion condoms distribution for University boys or you go do boxer shorts instead? Our Better Ghana Agenda is on the right path and I encourage you not to mind our detractors. . By the way, are we importing Yazz or Always sanitary pads? Please let’s make sure they come with free pantie liners too and deodorants. I will only charge three percent commission for this advise.

 

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Jonny my guy, be for I end this letter, there is one huge favor I need to ask you. In fact you’ll make me the happiest Ghanaian if you do this for me and I won’t mind if you tax everything including my flatulence. Please and please can you please give ministerial appointments to Allotey Jacob, Sam George, Richard Quarshigah and Nii Lantey Vanderpujey. These are individuals who speak and I know that what they say is not revealed to them by flesh and blood but by a ‘higher force’ I cannot and indeed most Ghanaians cannot contend with. I believe once they become an integral part of your ministerial appointees, you are sorted. The likes of Ablakwa and Fifii Kwetey are backsliding but I believe buy the time we get into the election mood their ‘spirituality’ will be revived. By the way say hi to Vicky for me the next time you meet. I will really love to get a reply from you but I know you’ll be too busy to reply so kindly just acknowledge receipt of this letter.

Your own Concerned Countryman.

Efo Koku Gator.

 
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Posted by on July 3, 2014 in ARTICLES

 

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