skypoems

It is hard for me to close my eyes

When the night is as cold as ice

So I resolve it with a toss of dice

And guess what the dare is?

A tall glass of wine.

It’s a dilemma of course.

And you would think it is the kind

That would take a special kind of force.

Perhaps, a celestial being to make it stop rotating.

To conjure a button for the pit,

To let the voice go away.

And the song that feels so strong making you feel

You belong out in space where days are oblivious and the

Nights are woken.

But nothing exists in space? No minute.

The hands of the clock are tied

So I wait, and just maybe when the sands sink into time

The north will call it a day, the south will drift astray,

The west will make way as the east will be the only horizon I phase.

My nights may come back, but my days are marked.

The dreams that waste my days wishing for stars.

For it stops at a point when my heart feels it is beneath him to serve again,

When my lungs can’t take the fumes from those dirty days and would cough out the pain,

When my heart will just give up to the sweet symphony the heart plays as it, stops to sing.

Tick, tock, tick, tock and it diminishes into the breathless dark.

Beneath my beautiful lies a river flowing through the turns and curves of this wasteland I call home

Beneath my beautiful lies a lake filled with plastic love and a stench that ceases your breath

Beneath my beautiful, these lands lay waste till the day of the lords

My body lays to bare the contour of a land flowing with milk and honey

But in the sweetest spot lay a forest populated by bears and scornful predators.

My heart pumps the beats of love but my mind sings otherwise.

My hearts yearns for yours but my mind.

I search for it in frontiers I never reach, but with just a touch I am there.

Trace your way to my heart

But beneath that beautiful will you find that sight that will linger in your thoughts always,

But beneath that beautiful will men lust till they break every corner of their home.

I hope my curves never sway you

I hope my lies never give you the blues

I hope my lips sing songs that never end

Would you let me see yours?

The guy running for his dear life is kwesi, kwesi nyame he is affectionately called by his peers. Kwesi nyame is one son of a “B”, kwesi nyame is the area commando. Kwesi nyame thinks he can destroy the whole world with a flick of his fingers even without the infinity stones. You would think kwesi nyame would use his superpower for a good course but no he is to be served. Kwesi nyame is not in a race hence not the reason for the cheers, kwesi nyame is running away from something, and that thing is …

Well it is a long story so let me start from the middle, we stood in the middle of nowhere with our mouth wide open as kwesi beat the hell out of a stranger we came across on our way to find kwesi’s kryptonite and destroy it before his enemies get hold of it. This journey we were embarking on was not of our free will and till we accomplish our mission we are his abled minions at the beg and call to his command.

The beatings were over and we had to continue our journey. I have gone on such adventure with Kwesi but this one got my heart racing, I don’t know but is love the reason?  And it wasn’t even me, it was him. At school, he met this girl I think he likes so he decided to take her address and visit her during the weekend. You would ask why my heart was racing. And I would say he bullied it out of the girl. So I was wondering how he would introduce himself and us to the girl’s parent.

Kwesi is the last born of his parents hence the insubordination on his part. I think in his house everything went his way so he couldn’t take any rejection and also part of it stems from the fact that he is always bullied by his three senior brothers. The journey was a long and an unpleasant one. But we got here. House number f/3 community five.

“This is the house,” he said looking up and down the wall and the paper he was holding. He knocked on the door before he realized there was a bell. He rang it like a madman which was not surprising. After some minute the girl’s brother who apparently is at the same school came to see us at the gate. Before, I saw the expression on his face change just as he got to the gate and saw the author of pain at the door.

“hey slim things,” said Kwesi

“hello” responded the girl’s brother in a soft and frightened voice.

“what can I do for you, Fred?”

“where is your sister?”

“she is inside” he responded

“well, go on tell her am here,” said kwasi, who apparently is Fred at school.

The brother of the girl went inside the house for a very long time, which got us wondering if he or his sister would come to the gate. We stood outside for about twenty minutes minus the time we spent ringing the bell. I bet the spaghetti guy wouldn’t come out even if he is offered Yara Shahidi (the Black-ish girl) for his bride. I would enter the lake of fire just to kiss her on the hands, just saying. Kwesi decided to ring the bell again. But this time it was the mother, she asked him all the questions and asked just him to come inside.

He was inside for a while, but we were still outside waiting for our boss. We saw a tree and went to stand under it for shade. A couple of minutes passed and we saw these three “macho men” enter the house. We looked at each other and wondering why? But hey it could be their house too. It only took about two minutes after they have entered for us to hear a loud scream emanate from the house “ajeei! Ajeei!!” that was Kwesi’s voice I said. “Is today the day?” I said.

The screams went on for a while then we heard a rush from the house. It was kwesi who came out running barefooted screaming “awurade gye me oo” (God save me) we stood with delight in our heart. Finally, our prayers have been answered. But we instinctively started to cheer for Kwesi just in case he got away and we had to face him at home. “Run kwesi run”. The girl’s mother turned and shouted you guys are next and just like the flash we vanished in a speed of light.  I think one of my friends jumped time cos we saw him lying on a lover’s bench at home like he wasn’t even with us.

Kwesi came home later so upset no one was able to ask him any question. And he the same.

 

 

I pass my stop, walking my way up the hills

I would miss the old times, the drinks the clubs

the trills.

I want a better tomorrow than my today

I will dig deeper in a search of a better heart.

So I pack my bag and set sail

tell everybody I am on my way

So wish me luck.

Alone on my way to where the rainbow ends,

but if I reach where it bends

I will pause for a while

and write my wrongs into songs

for the mile would mean nothing if it doesn’t

end with a smile.

So I wake up with my bag pack ready to go

in search of the pot of gold

So wish me luck.

I walk with the cloud

as I listen to its cluttering sounds

I love its company,

like beautiful creatures hanging in space.

Am in search of a good heart

I wish it was a race,

So I may touch the place where the sky and the ocean kiss.

I climb my way up the hill

with my ropes on my waist

ready to see the world in all its sides

so wish me luck.

 

 

 

 

For starters, this is not an Irish folktale or how the little man lost his tail. This story is about how I’m in a coffin as I tell the world my story. Most often we look at the world from a particular perspective and we wish it will talk to us or just give us what we want, even if we work or do not work for it. My message is not to show the world how I can write and you can’t. Am sweating, my heart is racing, my mind is not mine at the moment as I wonder if it was worth it or should I say why all this hell? It’s just one man’s blood?

Now, this is the story. Living in my part of the world is fantastic I won’t lie for if I have seen the world in that manner what will I be doing in a coffin at midnight in a strange forest I never knew existed in Ghana. The sweat, the pains of digging for gold and its futility, the lies from the men up there, promising us of a brighter future in exchange for our thumbs. We hurtfully cut it off but for what? Nothing better. But hey! Am not going lose my head over this trivial circumstance or let it cloud my judgment or ruin most of my childhood memories.

I thought of this world as a world without corners, a first-class street with no bumps. I had a rich father a loving mother and a family. My kid brother was my best friend. We did everything together cos I was just two years older. He was my first lookout when I brought my first girlfriend into the house, we nearly got caught. My parents returned with the story that my father had a hunch that the day was bad luck for whatever they were going to do in town. I really can’t forgive them for the blue balls.

Back to the story. Have you ever lost everything just in a day? Your mother, father, your brother and best friend at the same time. But its five years now, so I don’t have to be bitter about it, or I shouldn’t have is what I should have said or done. If I had done the later I think I wouldn’t be in this coffin sweating my heart away. But hey! It happened, my parents and brother were involved in an accident that took everything away from me. You would ask where all the riches went, and I will tell you he wasn’t that rich.

Five years on am still alive my friend are now those guys that I use to ignore when they try to sell me phones which may or may not be in good shape or just a model of the type of phone. They are mostly not phones, let’s not kid ourselves. We chill together, sleep together go on a no bathing strike together, well it’s mostly because we couldn’t afford the public shower house just around the corner. I turned a head potter in the nearby market, helping buyers carry their things from inside the market to the lorry station for a dime. But it was worth the while, at least I didn’t have to deceive people like Kwaku nyame does.

Let me tell you why I am in a coffin. It was Tuesday and not a lot of shoppers so the day was quite slow. We sat under a tree just outside the market facing the street. We were all like is it is so hot in Africa and why are our leaders selfish? But we were just hungry. Toss us a piece of bread and you wouldn’t hear us speak about any person and our country, in particular, I think we just didn’t care. It was me, and am Skye by the way, Kwaku nyame (god) and Yaw kitiwa (small).  We spoke about many things and how we could be rich in just seconds which Kwaku nyame brought up. He said he knew this guy who knew a guy who could make us rich. And yes if you are asking it is about black voodoo and yes we agreed to take that path.

Our first visit went well, we just had to offer the dwarf that was vomiting the money we got just some cola nut and a thousand cedi. Getting the money was the problem but we did it. The first year of being rich again was fantastic. We became the talk of the town everyone wanted to be us. We drove around in our corolla S. partying here and there drinking good wine and fine girls if you get what mean.

But after the second year the money stopped coming, the sack was now empty, so we decided to visit the voodoo guy again. We told him what happened and he said that ritual had an expiring date and if we want the one they call the “well never dry” we had to do something. Which was to sleep in a coffin for a whole night. We decided to oblige after all what could go wrong. We visited his place as scheduled. He did some ritual and told us to take off our clothes and lay in the coffin. We did as he instructed but then this happened or should I say this is what he said “ONE OF YOU WILL REST IN THE ARMS OF THE ANCESTORS FOR TO GIVE THEY HAD TO TAKE” followed by a contemptuous laughter which faded with his footsteps.

So here I am wondering if I would be the one to go. While I was at it, this is all that came to mind

“Write the world a song

tell the world where you went wrong.

Tell the world a lie

and watch it die.

Say nothing to the world

and it will hate you the more.

So sing into the world’s ear you trials

Maybe they may listen or blame you

But all the same, you lived.”

My palms were sweaty, my heart was beating so hard the kid sitting next to me could hear, I could feel their breath on my neck as they second guess all my tactics and formation. I knew I was going to die someday but I was too young. This was me one sunny Saturday afternoon at the game center. The place was so hot and the only scent you smell was sweat and the aroma from the “gary and beans” game man was eating in the corner of the kiosk. This setting was mostly boys as the only girl in this kiosk was that kind of girl who also like playing football and can beat the hell out of any boy in the neighborhood.

There was this one time a certain kid Charles, who we all feared unintentionally knock over her food, but instead of saying sorry he thought he could bully his way out of this one. It was a sweaty fight at the game center. She made Charles eat every food that was on the ground, so after that day we called him “wadi garli”.  And no kid in the neighborhood tried to mess with her again. Now back to my story, and further back to the decision that got me in the “clicki” situation.

I was just about to leave for my uncle’s place when my mother sent me an errand at “nyame b3 ky3re” which was a provision store in my neighborhood the biggest one I think.  I bought everything I was asked to. I sent it home as quickly as I could, It was a Saturday morning which I have stated earlier, I have gently tucked in my t-shirt in my Chelsea sweat pant, rocking my special Saturday cross sandals ready to go to my uncles.

At my uncles place. I was with my cousins Nana Appiah, and Joe Panyin, we were around the same age twelve I think. We usually sit under a mango tree that was right in front of the house, and this is where everything started. Remember those time when we spoke about everything from football to our favorite’s food and all sort of silly conversation? It was one of those moments.

“Kwame Is the best play station one soccer player in the hood” said Nana Appiah, and I think I should have just shut up and nodded for my sake, but no I had to bring my ego into this conversation also. I was twelve so what could go wrong. “I don’t think so” I responded. “Are you saying you can beat him?” inquired Joe panyin. I should have said no but I said “yes any day anytime”. Unfortunately for me Kwame came to my uncle’s place to by a light bulb.

“Kwame I have a challenge for you” said nana appiah. “What challenge” he asked “game” said Joe panyin “and who is the challenger?” he inquired. I felt Joe panyin’s palm on my shoulder indicating that I was the one. I could have said no but I think as my mother would say “Ga gra fa, Ga gra fa” meaning what is written is written. “Yes I am the one” I said. “Then let’s go and play er”

At the game center I had all the time in the world to fake some illness or something but my heart was strong if you get what I mean. We waited and waited, but before all this on my way to my uncles I found some money in my pocket it was a one cedi note. I didn’t know where it was from or how it entered my pocket so I guessed it was mine then. So I had the assurance in my head that even if I lose I could afford to pay. We waited and waited and it was time for us to take our seat and play.

One game is fifty pesewas. As I sat down the game man asked “3y3 lose anaa” which meant was it a loser to pay game? And my response was yes. We played through the first half and the score line was barren the second half was also not that bad but it got very uncomfortable he started playing 1-2 which made it hard for me to defend so eventually he scored and I was like okay I have the money to pay even if I lose, but just then and then a certain girl entered the game center and whispered in my ear “your mother said she needs her money” she said this horrifying words and left, and that is when the sweating started. suddenly my sixth and seven senses were magnified and I could feel my mother whirling round the banku-ta (the stick used to prepare banku) in her hand reducing any friction in her wrist and shoulder joint just in case. The game was over and I had to walk home, it was the longest walk I had ever walked in my life.

Upon reaching the house I had both palms on my head crying, I was asked why and I gave a flimsy excuse but unfortunate for me the girl who gave the message told my mother I was at the game center, so my lie was null and void even if it could have been true. We all know why let’s not pretend. When a mother hears of a son in the game center then her money should go missing at that moment.  I was pulled into the room by the neck of my dress and that was all I saw after I woke up the next day for church. I may have exaggerated but it was true.

 

 

 

 

It’s my birthday and no matter how you look at it am grown now and no one can take that away from me even though I would want to do that myself. Take away some numbers so I may remain younger forever. Who would have thought, well, we all knew we would grow those hairs someday. And it’s quite funny cos we wished for this, prayed for this and even cried real tears just to be a man someday sooner. Well, as a birthday gift to you I write this, I may be wrong but I hope am right. And try your very best not to judge first, most often I thirst for wine but I don’t take in alcohol so I pretend to be drunk and I get hyper in my own thoughts, sit in my fake-cloud nine and share a toast with God. Maybe that’s how it works. Every year is my birthday, but how do I live every day of it. It comes am happy, and it’s gone again. Should I wait every year or make it an everyday celebration. Every year I do nothing when it comes, am happy, then it’s gone again. It’s like a loop, from this day to the next same day of the next year. It is boring living the same life over and over again, happy then it’s gone again.

I write this piece in all sincerity, and I hope you really don’t judge. Imagine there is no religion, no GOD, no devil; what would be right and what would be wrong? Who would measure, how would the balance work? A feather and a stuck of gold? Or a white linen and a peace-loving man at the other side? Would a man be right to kill because he craves for it? And who are you to judge? Can you take away his gun and pat him on the head and say “come on son! You’ve been a bad boy, Can you? I believe without religion there would be no bases for morality, whether it’s right or wrong depends on each individual and his or her way of seeing things. Which will you prefer; a fantasy that preserves life or a reality that takes it away? Let’s assume the BIBLE is a lie, let’s assume the BIBLE is a self-exhorting dictator who preaches; love, faith, friendship, family and life preservation. Why would you hate such a lie?

And to sober myself, I calm myself down with the hope that someday I will walk on the street of gold, I may be wrong I may be right. But wouldn’t it be beautiful? You are judged for a stand you took so you build a stockade to shield you from the fingers, you scream “I don’t believe anymore, I never did” just so you can live. Whether it’s wrong or right, it’s who you are. Yes, but what is your measure? I may end here, but I ask when will you stop fighting and start living. And also don’t live for anything, live for something.

 

 

 

 

Nonfa series

 

I just realized that, it has been a while I did this. Which is holding your hands and kissing your lips and telling you how much I hate loving you. No sorry not that, wrong post I guess! But I really miss this, writing things I don’t really understand and hoping you would get it, I don’t know how you feel about it, but I really don’t think it’s twisted at all. Yeah! To the main issue; have you been in that position where you think you are so sinful to go to God and you wallow in pain and sorrow and guilt and you think you are the only one who can carry that cross? Well, that is condescending, and it doesn’t look good on you. Now this is what I do when am at that bridge, I look to the cross. Yeah, it’s a bit cliché-ish, look to the cross he says, ha! Am sure by now you are about to minimize the window of whatever technology you are a slave to, but wait really look to the cross. What do you see? A man who lived all his life doing things wrongly but at the end of it all it just took just five words and am paraphrasing “Lord remember me in paradise”. How hard can that be? And this should tell you the lord doesn’t mind how you live, well, he does but he also wishes we could be bold and regretful at times. Just that is enough just that is ok.

P.S. I wrote this listening to Michael Jackson’s human nature, Neil Diamond’s sweet Caroline and Cat Stevens wild world.

P.S. again, I don’t mind you calling me Jesus freak cos it will really look good on my résumé. Thank you.

Nights are closed days are pass, so on and always from page one.

Page two wasn’t any different just making inference from page one and maybe the prologue.

Life wasn’t that bad, I wasn’t that sad, I might have been very glad that I had a life perhaps.

Death always had it way life had many things to say. Many things to see, many rights to make and wrongs to change.

But all these had their space, all these came under a particular chapter, which was close to home and a family.

On page forty I had to forfeit, on page one hundred I had to claim those sixty pages lost.

Brought to my knees, a tale stung by me, the daggers and knifes, deceit and lies.

My vice caught up with me, but nights pass as days came.

So I washed all the mud for a new day, laid back in a new packed hay, cruising through it all, at least I am alive.

On the last chapter I painted it grey, for I once stood behind the fence, once upon a time I was in front of the fence and just yesterday I stood on the fence.

I wrote my life, in pages in the nights that run through the days.

So here I am, on day three hundred and sixty-five with my hands lifted up and my head up, saying thank you to the lord.

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