Poetry

October 24, 2017 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Lenny Miles photo

 

By

Henneh Kyereh Kwaku

 

 

 

twelfth coffin

 

 

o’god of my soul

here are seven calabashes

of ‘nsa fufuo’

–i know you

love it after seven moons

have been buried

at the

village square

but o’god of my soul

empty these

calabashes & bless me

with strength

—to dig—

the graves of the seven

moons that will

—to reincarnate

as gods

of a verse of a poem

and their bloods—

when all twelve

have been planted

and watered

—by the rains

will sprout again

 

 

 

 

T’was all love

 

 

It was love when we met

It was love when we broke the bed

It was love when you moaned

It was love when you carried us in you

It was love when the street knew us by step

T’was all love

It was love when the moon with the stars eavesdropped on us to spice their love

It was love when the sun burnt us without mercy.

It was love when the grass pinched us out of envy

T’was all love.

But

It was pain, it was hate, it was anger

when you left with us still in you.

You pierced my heart with a dagger whilst the moon watched the gory scene in awe.

You left a cocktail of agony and passion with a bile heart.

Even the sun shed tears when my heart came into view and the grass laid their hands on their head and swayed in sorrow.

You travelled the lone road with me in you.

Couldn’t you have left your address?

I wander in my wonderings, where to find you again. And you left with all that we made; love!

It was pain, it was hate, it was anger when you left with us still in you.

It was all I could get, out of the many things I never wished for.

It is with love that I write this, that you are still the queen of my broken heart.

T’was all love.

 

 

 

Henneh Kyereh Kwaku

Henneh Kyereh Kwaku; a Bachelor of Public Health, Disease Control student of the University of Health and Allied Sciences is an unknown poem; un–understood.

He writes from wherever there is enough oxygen to breathe and enough emotions to inspire a revolution.

He says, ”man needs redemption and the power to redeem rests in the hand of the poet.”

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