Poetry

January 15, 2019 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

UN photo

 

By

Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah

 

 

 

Wizardry In A Swim Suit

 

 

If it is clueless for the fowl

to take its bath in a pool of sand

then the pig wouldn’t

in its dramatic art of polish

also run to amuse its freshness

in a stink of dirty paste

Therefore,

what is madness to the right

is a whole jam to the lunatic

 

Hear me out,

Though I grow spoilt grains

on a desert land

and anticipate a bumper harvest

I am in my sane drum of a taken field.

 

If it is fair

for men to go to war in a culture of famine

and bring home the Goliath’s head

then the brevity of those men

are a stolen fantasy of sacrifice.

 

Hear me out in my state of dumbness.

For the depressed lover,

who sinfully committed a brave suicide

knows what he’s lost

 

I am a teetotaller

but drunk in words

and wedded in an asylum of political hangover

 

Hear me out on my lameness

and laugh over it as if I am a comedian.

For in my state of foolishness,

If we could recruit a special volunteering taskforce

to address issues of nuisance

by uncommon commercial drivers on our roads

I suspect it will generate a huge revenue

into our diabolic piggy bank.

 

The how of implementation is laughable.

Just take me as the coordinator

give us the answering logistics

and don’t pay us a lovable salary

but just give us

10 percent from the collected revenue

 

We shall starve, but we shall work.

 

If we could tell all African countries

to remember its lighter generations

by contributing a million dollars each

into a python full vase

and made accessible each year by a country, on vote

for an accountable speed of development,

we shall see a united flag of change

no matter the years it takes for each country

to have its fair share of divine growth.

 

Rome was not built in a day

And for that matter,

When we starve we think.

When we think we portray a constipated attitude of savings.

 

When we perceive corruption

as an inseparable siamese twin

We shall love our own

and loot the fragility of the local people.

 

What is this diagnosed chronic disease

where creative talents

have to be allies of a political color

before it could eat

What is this market place

of an artistic bargaining power

making us believe time is a concept of deceit

and Religion a “false truth” that humans created.

 

Where there’s no food,

Politics and Religion

are the hiding playground

for exhaustive monkeys

and bathing pumpkins

 

I say,

to understand the ways of a Politician

observe the culture of a man

luring a woman to bed.

 

I hail Ubuntu. I stand Uhuru.

For TRUTH is a patent art of Richness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah

The Writer is a “poor” celebrated, travelling, and Award Winning Young Poet from “Why me”. He uses “Why me”, because the African map looks like a Question mark (?). Thus, If Africa is asking its own self, the why question, then, it would not take a limping leader to get answers to the African being. Enjoy the piece, comment and critique it. If it affects your conscience, embrace Change.

Editor review

1 Comment

  1. Stephen January 16, at 11:43

    This is amazing. I love how you addressed Africa's (and of course, the world's) vices and happenings with poetic boldness! Wow. I wish our leader read this.

    Reply

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