Poetry
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Three Poems for that love I lost to the pillow:
This Lover; Greens, Future
She whispers balms
on trumping roads,
she rearranges bones
beneath soggy tegument,
Herself, by convoys of lovers
cedar leaves are base
that renders tea-layers
seductive reflections,
“I love you”,
is an epi-centered
galamasey talks.
it wins not hearts
of carpenters
who shall litter
hammers and nails
Greenish are the ferns
which roams her lips,
dark are the paints
which novels her soul,
Should tomorrow comes begging,
I shall dabble this Pond
listing how this lover
aborted greens
for a foe-future.
Lotus Memoria; O’ Withered Bride
a.
i crane to steal
the depth of the sun
each night our fate salivates,
with those colourful
embraces in mind,
those warmth felt before
the breeze took a stroll
b.
our minds which walked-on
on each mushroomed twilight,
brings back minutes of counted silence
c.
weren’t we meant for each other,
o’ scorched bride
deep coloured memories snaps at me
of these uncured ailments
d.
a. bleeding heart
a. swallowing soul
a. broken branch
a. withering leaf
(this fertile land,
is now a muted desert)
This Wife; A Coffee-Box, A Lover
Lonely birds wrestle through
in deserted waters, in Malian musics
and chains of mustached-lips
the family becomes dis-united
though blood-is-blood,
sweat-is-sweat,
there is no healing like death.
she gave me stars of her golden melanin,
that when night comes in scarlet hungry feet,
I would used them as cover-sheet
all you’ve got reading when night is stripped of her clothes
is watch your own shadow
feel-a-fell of a loaned saliva
get wasted like tears of an orphan
It is with a withering heart,
a meditating spinach spinal
that I yearn for the coffee-box
as if there are no golden dreams
should a man’s chest be covered
with loam-blouse of dimmed sheets
“live long, longer-lingers”, said my brother
when whispers becomes louder than whistles
would the wet-bird cease irridiant moments
tapping through beautiful pregnant eyes of an owl?
I bet veterans to canvass their slippers
like igniting gloom to cleanse this laps..
Nana Arhin Tsiwah is an undergraduate student from Cape Coast, Ghana; a disciple of Pan-African consciousness, a cultural ideologist, an awensemist (poet) of different shade but tells of a hunter’s trails for Akanism. He is an orator and a village servant in a poetry movement dubbed; ‘The Village Thinkers‘
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