Clowns Do Cry

A boy on a sick bed with the mother beside him, she was making funny faces just to cheer him up.
It did work and with every face she made she got a laughter and a big smile at the end.
But suddenly the boy kept mute for a while and asked, mom do clowns cry? Just then tears droped down her cheeks and her answer was yes son clowns do cry.
They paint their face so you wouldn’t see the tear marks, they wear that big colourful dress so you wouldn’t see the scars on them and the big red ball they wear on their nose so to make them sound funny hidding their saddened voices.
But you see anytime they see that spark in your eyes it dries their tears and they smile also. Clowns do cry.
Nyameye sky.




Look at me , take a careful look at me ?

is this how a royal should look?
you can speak can’t you speak to me ?

how convincing can you be, can you tell me i haven’t tried all the tricks in the book?

i have walked all path the broad the narrow and the rocky. i have met many faces with different intentions the good, the bad , and the ugly. i have than the illogical i have seen obscure sight which are mostly not optical. i have cried all my tears, i have ventured all the spheres but up to no avail.
so i ask is this the royal life you promised ? a life not of gold but with riches untold a life with my naked eye i cant behold. they are in the book you gave which i read from sunset till i become cooled in the midnight breeze. would you say i haven’t tried harder ? i have with my bare hands built houses more huger than the tower of babelĀ  i have conjured up paths which are mostly complicated than the red sea exodus.


i have cried and is that not enough? i thought life was hand to mouth never new there was more i thought i would always win but the more thought me i could loose or draw. like a dead plankton all i do is follow the current of the ocean, with this motion i don’t even know were i stand, is this your plan? a trick life question with no answers.

nyameye sky

The sinking ship

hith-women-children-first-E.jpegup on the deck, cool breeze fills my lungs. happy? no. Home sick? yes. Rolling deep on the ocean with the ship dancing to its rhythm up and down , to and fro, the highs and the lows.

the stench is up, got to seal my nostrils. Those rotten ocean dwellers , how careless can they be , don’t they know what to do with the dead? That even said where are those sagacious delphinus capensis? Are they not sane no more ?

This journey on water, my favourite adventure why do i complain anyways, why do I sometimes sound the jerk? is it the hole in it? Is it the false pretence of it never existing? Is that the reason for the rage, Or the tragedies that fills my pages in this epic exodus?

the fear of pirates those stinking meaners with a hook of an arm. Begging for arms in arms, robbing Peter just to feed his rotten soul. I bearly sleep, I lazely slumber so not to be caught of guard. Is that the reason for this rage?

deeper I go , how less did I know, when tears flow down my cheek. Is that the reason for these? The rage the fall of stage of the mighty and the great their heads are the same. Sometimes I ask if the world is sane but when I realise my position I know that it is I who is “in-sane”.

titanic-sinking.jpga walk on the sea, the reliefs I yearn to see , why am I on this ship. It goes deeper , it sinks hesitantly but very fast. I knew it would so I had my boat which I rolled to the shores.

A nyameye sky poem.