In recent times poetry has been on study rise to prominence it has in its own way gained relevance in the heart of the little Ghanaian.
Poetry a work of art with dots and rhymes, poetry the ink of society, the words of the wise which are mostly nuisance, makes sense here, there and then.
An empty space works makes it full the wisest saying but an insult to the fool who never gets it. The blank white sheet, the knife that slices the meat, the ink makes the difference telling stories of the past the present and the unknown.
Taking it shape, it’s meaning floating in space, with the wondering mind the searching thoughts trying to catch it with the hand but grows weary.
poetry, treason , reason can’t look can’t stand can’t ignore the fact that it has been underground for so long, it stood in line , it had its own song. sick rhyming punchlines.
The cat and bull sat on the kitchen stool they had nothing to eat but knew the heavens was on heat to pop down manna in a marvelous manner.
The world never expected that the rejected would stand and proclaim goodness a sense of belonging. It has been underground for so long the wind whirling round our ears if not for centuries then years.
A spider weaves it nest, a fly gets caught in its predicament unable to move again solely in disdain.
Poetry like a mother gives rise to new inspirations, poetry like a mother the spine of society.
Poetry the river of thoughts flowing into streams of ambiguity, poetry you are welcome.