I believe we make choices every day, the ones we would want to keep and the ones we would love to keep.

I believe we make lots of mistakes, the ones we call tragedy and the ones we call happy mistakes.

I believe we all know how life is, we compare it to Amistad the movie or the deadly voyage our story.

I believe we all have opportunities, the ones we saw coming and the ones we happily ignored because it came with a string and we never wanted to be pulled by it.

I believe we all have our stories, the ones we would love to share and the ones we wouldn’t want our grandchildren to hear.

I believe life goes on even after death and I will never cry when I die but before a family I made, I would wish I died eternally too.

I believe we all know things, the things that gets us thinking… what crime did we perpetuate? Why would anyone think we are not humans? Who gets arrested, the driver or the car?

I believe we all tell lies sometimes, the ones that lingers in our sleep and the ones that gets us hanged.

I believe we all have nightmares, the ones that appeared because we told a lie and the ones we just can’t tell when it will blow over.

I believed we all had dreams, the ones that kept us working till we were weary and the ones we always wake up from.

Starring at the bottom of the clouds were we wish it will rain gold.

Standing at the mouth of the river wishing it had a tank where it would keep its excess

Looking through us, as we see through you.

life is quite amusing when the odds are for you, but you smile when it turns its back and say not sarcasm, but you know it is.

Walk through the dark,

Run around the park,

Pray for the things you lack,

Right stories that may last, do it son, do it fast.


So I drew a crooked heart


A heart that has been loved, a heart that has felt the cruelty of a man who swore to protect it. A heart that needs no lessons for the better way to learn is to be the lesson taught.

I had a heart that loved, I had a heart so naïve even love was worried, I had a heart so blind it saw nothing wrong with the world.

This is a heart that has been to jail, a heart that slept in the cold arms of a criminal, a heart that had no love this is the heart I fell in love with.

Stabbed by the heart that promised love, he watched on as she starved, with no love she held onto the promise that the sky will never fall so is his love.

I had a heart plainly drawn in space with no strips, in ink and love. Shaded from top to bottom with just a spot of white left.

If all hearts were like this heart if the world could tell her suitors, that her innocence is as pure as the virgin. If they would cherish her and keep her like the egg, this heart would love the world.

In blind folds, with worn out souls, family filled with moles, lovers forgetting their roles, fake popes in pretty robes expecting the sun to always shine on those daffodils would be silly just as the world is.

This story I write, these songs that I sing are but the truth. The world wants us to draw a straight heart with our minds, but with our hearts we draw the crooked ones.



download my first poem book here MY FIRST POEM BOOK




THE MAN IN THE FIELDS (download my first poem book)



A body made of shrubs
Like the king on the cross I spread my arms
He did it to embrace but
I do to scare away
With no heart nor mind
With no arm just a hand
I came with just my feet
The fields are the floor of my house
The sky my ceiling and the moon my chandelier
People pass by, not a word they say,
People I thought were my peers
I don’t need their pity
I just can’t feel it
I don’t need their greetings
I can’t respond anyways.
I watch them turn the earth
I watch them as they hope for bread.
I wonder, what if it never rains.
What if the sun takes a nap for years?
If their prayers are answered so can mine
They come with both feet
But fall so easily
They come with brains but
How quickly do they lose their memory?
I wonder why? But I have none so I can’t tell.
Is it right not to have a heart?
Is it better without a mind?
Is it life? Would you care to answer?
I watch as they are placed six feet beneath me,
As others shed a tear or two.
But what can I do?
Am just a man in the fields?




HERE WE GO AGAIN!! (download my first poem book)


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Its quarter pass six and you still in bed, how you wish there was another way other
that death. The alarm goes off at exactly six, but you say “why bother if I would
definitely come back to it.” Like being stuck in a disguised loop, we wake up, eat
and sleep. Like falling into an abyss, an endless search for comfort-ability and we
lose the more as if it is a necessity. We search for it not to cover our nakedness,
we roll in the dirt as we rub our dignity in the mud. We look on and eventually
end up in a mess. Good morning to the first man you see, it was him yesterday, a
week ago, a month… last year. The preacher man said it was over, just after we
shot the devil with our imaginary guns. He died, didn’t he? You arrive at work and
since you decided to leave work early the previous day you have a lot to do.
Halfway through it you receive a call, you rush out you’ve lost a friend you can’t
cry or you shouldn’t cry. You exchange pleasantries with a fallen face and a face
down smile telling them you feel their pain. You walk home in a loosen tie, a rolled
up sleeves and your coat hanging around your shoulder or on the tip of your
middle finger. Is it stress from work? Is it life “or the reason that you would have
to go through the same cycle tomorrow again. Not like your friend is going to die
again but someone is going to die and to say otherwise would be a lie. It may not
be a heart ceasing, maybe a heart breaking, a dream that won’t come to live so
you fall on bead making. That wouldn’t be exactly you but life makes it sometimes
rhyme. “Here we go again” you say, “but I thank the man upstairs, at least I have
mine. Hmm! Life.” You close your eyes and finally out you go.






The reason for this book.
Many a time we search for meanings of the way life portrays our destiny. Why did it end up this way?
Why didn’t I choose the other way? Would there be light at the end of the tunnel? Why would it be so?
We try to find our muse even in the most distressed situations, as we set aside our emotions just to have a friend and pretend we like it.  This book is not meant to answer those questions but to tell you, you are not the only one.


download book here…MY FIRST POEM BOOK

worries of a Rasta man



Polish till it shines, when you can’t even see it at night.

A blind spot as visible as a man in clean shave, white teeth, a suit, a shirt and a bad character.

The beautiful things in life, a car, a man in suit and living as if the good things are that which looks good.

When we pretend to be nice but he can’t, when we pretend we do, but a man in suit wouldn’t.

Black, white who cares!!

what happened to Color? sure we can pretend there are only two, sure others exist too.

Its weird as we fixate on them two and the harm they bring and we still call blue sad.

It’s not like the other is plain, but we are colored and we are just one of it, black.

There are two stages in a black man’s life, the day he was born and the moment he realizes black has been made the opposite of white.

No matter the color you prefer white always seems nice to them, I prefer black so I may remain spotless but you got to be bad to be black.

Why women would never marry right or men would never live as a choice but to please a woman who doesn’t even know what she wants.

I see them with mask on, telling the world there are bad people in it and it’s not them.

We can’t be free unless we are all free but like cowards we hide behind human faces and say he has a stand so he is judged, because he believes abortion is wrong, because many are scared they would lose because they are strong and powerful and are sadly rainbow.

Thank you Mr. World for a wonderful time, I enjoyed it but I had to hear the bell chime. The slumber was over, the center line view is over. We need not toll the same cue. As the pendulum swings from left to right it eventually settles and that’s a grey area.

Thank you Mr. World what a great person I am now? I love the sound of old women muttering those hateful songs. OH! How fast they would close their window as a response to a hello. Thank you Mr. World, did you just give me the booze so I would make a mess of myself

We can sit on the fence and think it is right, we might stand behind it and it doesn’t make it any right either, we may cross and still not be in the right position. But I know you know what right is?

I want to travel overseas, I want to write stories, and I want to sing songs. Write right my wrongs, I want to tell the world how I really hate it but love to stay in it. I just want to.

A dream in exile

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We lift up our sword of valor, up high it goes.

Again we lift it up, we raise it high cos as they say the third time is the charm.

We lift, we lift and we lift.

Our hands are tired but still we lift.

Our enemies come cutting through the jungle, we are on the pride rock but our ego they mush on the floor.

They separate us, they vanquish us into exile, where we speak and never understood.

Our works are never of our minds we know nothing cos it’s a strange land.

But on our lands they dance,

They dance till they break each and every bone in them to suite the beats that emanate from the drums of our land.

Their hair flies through the sky as they dance, they dance till they hurt themselves.

But I ask does victory bring pain? Does excitement hurt, does it?

So they keep on dancing and dancing, would they ever stop.

Would they ever pause and say let’s bring them back, would they?

But we come, we come to dance with them, to dance with them with dagger in arms,

We dance till they lose their senses then we hit them in the guts,

And with each thrust we feel the pain, the pain of victory.

This is our land, our pride is our rock and we have come to take it back. But we wake and it is just a dream, a dream in exile.


poetry (The Reason)


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.




Our Love Just Like In the Telenovelas.


We just live once, twice is a SECOND CHANCE, don’t hold onto the hurt the pain and disgrace they inflicted on you Vengeance is of the lord CORAZON INDOMABLE. just Cruz, just chill, ease the adrenaline rush at ACALPOCO BAY, they laugh at you call you fat but you are MY SWEET FAT VALENTINA, don’t worry we shall return and return the pain they inflicted on us, call it, LA PATRONA, strong sensation I feel anytime u come around and I feel like touching you my HIDDEN PASSION, without you, is like carrying a curse on my head BELLA CALAMIDAD never letting you go is THE PROMISE, ALL IN THE NAME OF LOVE, sitting at bank of the DESTINY RIVER knowing I mistrust you come back my ROSALINDA, I have got to act fast cos our love is TIMELESS. I will raise over your head a SHELTER FOR LOVE, cos of this love you have got more foes than friends my EVA LUNA, your woes never go away on your head I see the crown of tears CORONA DE LA GRIMAS. Our story is just like in the telenovelas, I LOVE YOU.


John Dadzie

Blurred sight




It is what I see I make meaning of,

My feelings are mine so I keep discrete.

Truth be told I fear my dreams

A clear projections of what I believe

They come in various forms

Not following any norms or breaks any don’ts.


My reality my heaven

This is the place I can behold

Truth be told this is what I see

And it is what makes me sane.

The tangible, the believable, the real deal

This is the place for me.


My eyes, the very things I don’t want to see is what is brought before my eyes.

I thought eyes are supposed to see the best in people not the worst.

Is it a choice, is it really necessary? Did my confusion cause this?

Is it what it wants me to see or it is me who makes them happen?

I prefer the better ones but what I get never amuses me.

Truth be told what my eyes sees is never what I get call it utopia.