Euphoric Sepulchre

Euphoric Sepulchre

Dry bones
A soul
A spirit
A grave
A party
Music and dancing
Wet eyes
A biscuit
A cake
A smile
A funeral
Mourning and dirges.

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Barefoot To Success

Barefoot to success

I am walking down this mile
On naked foot without a smile
It is an abandoned dark road
And I am left lone with my load
A sack
In the sack
A dream
In the dream
A goal
In the goal
A plan
In the plan
A future
Heavier to break the suture

Here
No love
Or no time to love

Here
No blink of an eye
Or no time to shed tears

Here
No time
Or no day and night

Here
No weather
Or no rains or sunshine

Here
No feelings
Or no thirst or hunger

All I have known
Is marching on
No breathing
Or no time to rest

Faith they say will bring the light
Until then our fate is still in the tunnel

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Haiku

 

A disc of yellow sun
Hiding behind dark clouds
In the twilight of the day.

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A True Confession

A True Confession

I wasn't a gay but I loved him with all my heart and he loved me back. We shared intimate times and he was the safest repository I have ever trusted.

We were young then, but we didn't need anyone to remind us of religion and some rummy hodgepodge. We were much aware of ourselves and our developing love mixed with romance. He was the closest thing that ever happened to me, in our alma mater,stories were told of us being the twins that came from different families. Mention my name and he responds. Wherever you find him, it is most likely that am there or around.

We were in secondary school and in our final year. My partner and I, as usual, would be the last to wake up and instruct form one boys to fetch us buckets of water for bathing. We never had soaps and would go to the johns to beg for soap. On lucky days we got to use those of friends that were close to us like Akanch and Agyekum, but some days, we had to suffer the disconcertion that came from other colleagues.
Some days we found confidentiality in the bathroom to measure the size of our dicks and make some few touches. We laughed at our infantile affairs, we teased our amateurish gayness with a certain level of hope that someday we shall perfect the art. We couldn't blame each other and gave ourselves reasons to err. We took succor in the fact that our school was an all boys one and so we had to help each other satisfy his sexual hunger.

We were also in the same science D class. One afternoon, when the sun was at its zenith and ennui had set in, we couldn't help ourselves from sleeping. It was time for core maths and the teacher was more boring than the beans and rice we had taken for lunch. My friend was sitting in the desk right infront of mine, so communication in class was much easier between us. I gave him a jounce on his shoulder and he quickly veered his head in my direction. "Chale make we commot eeeh, I dey feel bed oo', I said and it appeared he had been waiting for this call for long, so he reaponded "Me sef, I no know what this man dey teach koraaa, make we go, Derick go fill us in". Stupid boy, he never said never to bad deeds.
So I parked my books under my desk and prompted Derick, my sitting partner and the most brilliant in our class or the whole school,to bring them to me in the dormitory when they were done with their schooling. It was apparent that education was not a thing for me and my friend, and we always took delectation in anything that didn't employ our noesis.

We went straight to the assistant house prefect's class for the keys to the dormitory. Though he resisted, we eventually cajoled him to make a voluntary give and advised us not to leave the door ajar, we should be quiet and closed in there, and that he would give us preconcerted signals by  hooting should they sought entry after school. To these we responded yes sir massa. Michael Tagoe was an austere prefect, we knew, but he softens when you make him feel important as a house prefect.

In the shut dormitory, where our privacy was fully assured, we didn't waste time in stealing some provisions from the innocent form one boys chopboxes. We treated ourselves to some drinks and biscuits, and gathered a beautiful booty, of which included some sardines, milk, biscuits, nido etc. After satisfying our stomach, we felt the need to feed our lust.

My friend lay in one bed and another next to him was occupied by me. We were both enjoying the tranquility of the atmosphere, listening to the sporadic twitting of birds unseen,relishing the airy nature of the dorm and we threw periodic glances at each other. Uncertain of who to start, we both made a quick laugh of our timidity. Then I finally mastered courage to join him on his bed.

We made funny comments about the last time we tried it,the childish propensities displayed and promised ourselves that we were going to do it better than the previous. I slapped the cheeks of his butts so hard that zest him to slap me back, which resulted in some doggish play of a sort. We rested ourselves side by side on the bed, still looking deep into each other's eyes, I could name a spirit of true love in there and never to be let down by those eyes. You see, he was the beginning of all that I have come to know about love. Though we both had girlfriends in the same girls school, we savored our intimacy more than with our female friends.
We finally brought our heads closer enough such that our tongues would inter lock. We kissed lightly and briefly, and then relaxed for a while to ascertain from our faces whether we were loving it. And then continued kissing, making some touches of our butts and finally our penises. His was short but huge while mine was long and fatty.
It was getting profound and the air in the room seemed to have vanished all of a sudden, at this moment, we were not sure of our feelings, it seemed to me as it did to him, that we stopped. But we were so hard already and needed to vomit that whitish fluid and be free.
He had a big butt, and he was ready to swallow my dick in those. He pulled down my pants and I reared the straight and nodding cock, sweating yet confused whether I wanted to thrust those naked butts of a fellow man or not. He was also perplexed about his feelings but we loved each other so much that we were ready to do it for the other and not necessarily for ourselves. So just about the first penetration, I paused to ask my friend if he needed this. He also asked me if I wanted it and we both shouted a big NO to ourselves.
 Surprisingly,we wept bitterly that afternoon, we cried as if we had both lost our parents. We regretted our actions and teared over the fact that we couldn't control our lust. We both felt deficient of our self esteem and avoided each other's eyes. In the guilty silence, I could hear the devil's laughter over our lecherousness.

The next day was a Saturday, I travelled back home and went straight to the parish priest to make a voluntary confession of all that happened. We prayed and he told me to go and sin no more. But till now, we both have been fighting our hangdog conscience anytime the subject of gayness is raised. I abhor it, it disgusts me and I have strongly condemned gays in our society, but now law demands that we respected them in our midst and so I have no choice.
But I am glad I have bought my freedom with this piece.

Note: Don't be too quick to judge me please.

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Rejoice here comes Death

Rejoice, here comes Death

The whole motility of mortality
Is as if stepping over a grave
In this intricate movement is embedded
the whole secret of this transitory phase
And the poet is but another prophet of time
His words may not be his or the moment
So this is my vaticination for a man

While the sun or the light or the moon
Or the stars, be not darkened
nor the clouds return after the rain
When fear shall designate the keepers of the house
And the strong men shall bow before the altar
The altar of life which the women will cease bathing
And return home to eternity with their naked curves
Then let the words of the poet echo throughout the tomb
Let not his words be late than the late you

And he stands at the mountain peak
Emitting long loud cries to herald
An unknown destiny,a lifeless hour and says
It was a day of wind, clouds and rain
And the clouds, as usual, did not disperse after the shower
they returned, covered the face of heaven with blackness
Such that even Jesus missed the entrance
The windows thereafter was darkened
The storm came and the strong men were paralysed
And the grinders of mill ceased from terrified toil
And the women imprisoned in the harem 
The revellers shall no longer be interested in the streets
The twitting of birds caused a sudden anxious surprise

As the terror of the storm, the poet continues his harbinger
Preparing the minds of men for a day
That darkness shall be no different from light
For out of darkness cometh light
And the light of man is darkness visible
Like men lust for a stripper's waist that wave like a flag
And the women pray for the faith of their husbands
So it will come and its comes voluntarily
To dance out the romance in our waist
And take every breath we owned gently away
Here comes death, the funniest friend of man

Man will go to his home of everlasting resting
And the mourners shall keep his grave lively
Consoled by the keeper of the cemetery
Who best knows death and its brotherhood
Whatever man may have been, good or bad
Death brings equal terror to all
A man may have been rich
Like the golden hung on a silver chain in the palace
Or as poor as the earthen pitcher used to fetch water from the well
What his state was matters not the time
Death is dreadful to one as to the other
Vanity of vanity; all is vanity
Security will lose its power when it knocks
When the last hour comes, you feel it
But not when the minute is due nor the second

There is a secret in six feet down a grave.
And I hope you find it in this prophesy

The poet wipes off his tears and decends the mountain

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The Cursed Old Man

It was eighty four days without fish
The old man had always made a wish
to catch even a catfish and make a dish
But the sea had cursed him
and the apparent wind made swish
The sun died in his boat that night
and he murmured a song to his delight
He had returned from another empty day
Sat on his skiff and ate sardines of yesterday

The old man was gaunt with wrinkles in his neck
The scars on his hand were fresh yet old to check
Everything about him was old except his hopeful heart
He liked American football and he followed the chart
Santiago,the boy, said while they climbed the bank of the sea
Maybe I should get some sardines and a hot cup of tea
As they sat on the terrace,they discussed the boy's departure
I know you did not leave because you doubted
Am a boy and got to obey when Dad flaunted
You are with a lucky boat now and make a catch daily
Make some money and come every evening to drink gaily

Eighty five was a lucky number and this must be the day
"Today I await my destiny" and the old man pray-ed
The boy bid him good bye and wished him well
He sailed deep into the ocean and whistled along
And soon he was all alone with old eyes to watch
He followed the ineffectual movement of fish birds
The school had left him and they were moving farther
Maybe I must cast somewhere here
Maybe somewhere my big fish is here
If others heard me talking aloud,they may think crazy
But since no one is near and I am not crazy,I don't care
The old man cast his net and sailed steadily around the region
Two sea birds had settled on his skiff and waggled their tails
They sung of summer and sweet soaked smiles and the struggle
The Old man was old enough to appreciate and thanked the birds
He thought of sleeping but that would be dangerous,he said

It was dark and the old man still sailed
It had become true that he wasn't going without a fish
He felt his rope becoming heavy and he smiled
The old man wept, he wept of many days without a fish
He became wide awake and hoped for glory at last
The fish was big,he thought....this fish can buy the shore
I hope no one has been worried,the boy am sure will have confidence
The fish is a calm one or he just aware of who has caught him
Now the boy's father won't insult him as well as the younger fishermen
This fish won't kill me,I fight till I die,he thought
He leaned against his stern and he knew he was not dead
He spat into the ocean and said, eat that big fish
The wind was blowing harder and the pungent smell of flesh
Let this wind blow us to the shore quietly,be gentle as you have been
For I have no strength in these bones to carry you,the old man said aloud
As the old approached the shore,he was close to death
He ahoy,but there was no man to meet him, not even the boy
Have they gone looking for me or they are drinking a beer,he wondered
The old man reached where he could see the fish and pulled it up
Alas,the boy lied in the net, he had fished the boy's corpse
For eighty five days without fish but dead body of dear boy
The Old man stopped fishing and wept the rest of his life
Such is the destiny of a cursed old man

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The Exonerative People of Ghana

With markings to adorn
Everything there seem awesome
The people and the dresses
They do it in colours you will envy
Bridges, channels and culverts
My brother you will covet
Go further, down the street
There he lies, one Ghanaian
Flesh and blood oozing
Lifeless and wailings
You see why I said, SA is beautiful
Very beautiful, we won't complain
Neither will we cry, we will wait
We will patiently wait for our corpses
If we decide to fight back, we will fail Nkrumah
Theta Madiba can continue his long walk to freedom
For now, no freedom ,he can continue in grave
We will wait for that faithful day
We will together sing that freedom song
Beautiful tarred roads
Nkosi sikelel' Afrika
Maluphakanyisw' uphondo lwayo,
Yizwa imithandazo yethu,
Nkosi sikelela, thina lusapho lwayo.

We shall forgive, why not , we are Ghanaians
The birth of today is the death of yesterday
We do not have memories, we don't remember a thing
We shall dine and wine together, why not, we are Ghanaians
Is not one of us who was murdered, its wassa or Fante
Ewe or Ashanti, not a Ghanaian
Over my dead body, if it were a Ghanaian
Like what we will do to South Africans,
we will forgive them right?

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Naked Tides

Have you ever seen the sea undress
Throwing its waist about to impress
Coming closer in tides to you seduce
While you scream more for the juice
The tides
The sea
You
Me
Are we mysteries to keep
or ancient science so deep?

We looked into the eyes of the erotic tides
The current at which it curves with no shame rides
The aphrodisiac groan its waves whisper in our ears
And I become jealous of those stones which over years
Stood to these tides without ejaculation or a blink
Thrust deep amorous sea,make us want more with a clink

We are flesh and blood
Lick us if you like with a flood
Touch her G-spot; she wont break
Smooth and gentle make us slake
Caress us; feel the warmth of our breast
Don't stop; not even to rest
Feel the weight of your body against ours
Now suspire and resume labour for hours
Your heaving breath upon our skin.
The most gentle touch on our thigh,
The soft nibbling on my breasts -
Moving slowly in a downward motion.
Now you see,there's no mystery here.
Its just a love affair among
The Sea
Its tides
You and
Me.

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Man Is a Builder and Artist.

He who finds the desire in either drawing, writing or building, has found the purpose of his existence and his soul will forever be at peace with nature.

Man has been always considered a builder and artist, and nowhere has he shown himself more significantly than the building he has erected or the words he has written or the gallery he has painted. When we stand before them - whether it be a mud house, a mansion, a pyramid, a pantheon, a poem, a short story, a painting or a picture - we seem to read into their soul.
The builder or artist may have long gone, perhaps ages before, but here he has left something of himself, his hopes, his fears, his ideas, his dreams, his tears, his joy, his life and his death. Even in the remote recesses of the Andes, amidst the riot of nature, and where man is now a mere savage, we come upon the remains of vast, vanished civilizations, where art and science and religion reached unknown heights.

Wherever humanity has lived, and wrought, we find the crumbling ruins of towers, temples, tombs, and scrolls of vellum or parchment, and monuments of its industry and its aspiration. Also, whatever else man may have been -cruel, tyrannical, vindictive-his building or words always have reference to religion.
They bespeak a vivid sense of the unseen and his awareness of his relations to it. Of a truth, the story of the Tower of Babel is more than a myth. Man has ever been trying to build to heaven, and the story of the codex gigas, is proven beyond all possible incertitude, to be true, that man has ever written the biggest book, embodying his prayer and his dreams in brick and stone and the ink.

For there are two set of realities-material and spiritual-but they are so interwoven that all practical laws are exponents of moral law. These laws are found to be sacrifices, truth, Power, beauty, life, memory and , as the crowning grace of all that principle to which polity owes its stability, life its happiness, faith its acceptance, and creation its continuance-obedience. These laws are as applicable to the building of a character as to the construction of a cathedral, they are as relevant to humanity as the writing of our heart.

Therefore, my brother it is important that we build a superstructure perfect in all parts to the builder, the laws of nature and to the Great Architect of the Universe(God).
We are afraid of losing what we have, whether its our life or possession and property, But this fear evaporates when we understand that our life story and history of the world was written by the same hand.

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BITE A CAKE, TAKE A BEER BUT DON'T REST.

There comes a moment in every craftman's life,when you get carewore about the trade you have artistically built over years or months.

That period when you wish you could put the pencil down at last and suspire. It is the minute of your doom and you literally or metaphorically implode.

It is easier saying you are tired and need some rest,and it is another story making your respite become your day of reckoning. Every artist has something unique inside him that seems to conflagrate his muse or passion,it is only that some times,the hour produces some sort of otiosity.
However,I give it to you all in strong terms of recommendation,to bite a cake,take a beer if you do drink and move on,for the temple was not built half way. Until you throw the canopy or network over the pillars,you just cannot rest.

The times will be hard,in fact no one promised us a smooth run,hurdles are placed in our paths,to make the journey interesting and a memorable one, that when we are eventually labeled masters of the craft,it must be that we served the world in good faith,it must be that we ran a good race,it must be that we helped shape society.

Financial constraints,health breakdown and employment conundrum cannot impede on our order,for every man to himself a temple build,and at the end he shall be judged by the exquisite design and workmanship on the pillars he erected,our words and actions make the world dance in style.
This I say to awaken the spirits of all the tired artists ,of which,I am one big victim.Forward to all haggard artist to resuscitate their interest.

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