Standing Again

It’s not been easy
It’s been hell
Raw emotions and the elements
You take me through
The fiery furnaces at the corners
The lava, gases and the deep-burning geyser
The rocks that support life
Cutting flesh wounds into me
Fills them with chippings and rare rock dust
Bits of me dry up
On the jagged edges
I’m plunged deep into
Black waveless water
Fish and sailors are long extinct
The water has turned into something
That will melt
I’m flung out and hurtled to the sky
To burn in the scorching sun
To be pecked by hungry birds
My skin is stretched over my bones
Tight like a banjo string
A spiraling black hole
Swallows me whole
It has no bottom or tangible walls
In shock my nerves feel like
Snakes inside me
If only they’d bite, my pain would stop
But I go on and on
The elements happened to me
And all emotions too
In just five seconds
The ground moved once and
I, will never stand again.

Pain and Breeze

Life is pain and little breeze
All deserve more than they get
Yet living’s beyond regret
Problem doors will all have keys
Happiness won’t come with ease

Being at peace with yourself
A conscience free from dark design
Is the elusive underline
The vain-vaunted fame and pelf
Can’t coax happiness off a shelf.

Secret Santa, Give Me a Pair of Socks!

Secret Santa:
Shoestring budget of 10 bucks (you said!)
You got your friend a pair of blue socks with sick grey stripes.
He moaned “I don’t get interesting presents anymore!”
You called his family and ‘curioused’ what he would like.
“Something artistic and unusual”, they hinted.
You found the task of looking way too difficult.
And having no sense of art in you...
So you got him a bum-boring gift.
He still wears them for an excuse to be rude.

Lingering Eyes

Babe, I'm so proud
That in every crowd
From face to little finger
All eyes, on you, linger

Pigeon English - Words with Wings

I wrote a blog post on Pidgin English the other day, and my office mates got to reading it. The Shona Mambo (mambo=prince) remarked that he thought the spelling was p-i-g-e-o-n, and he was bug-eyed for a wonder. The Malay Putri (putri=princess) sauntered in and exclaimed, “I thought it was spelt p-i-g-e-o-n! Why not p-i-g-e-o-n?” The Viscount of the Volta answered, “Because it cannot really fly!”

Me and You

We go away today
To a place where we can play
It will not matter who
Or where or what we do
As long as it's me and you

Mof Touch

Cally and I were getting an emergency haircut at “B Fine” Saloon, near the Red Lobster Restaurant, in kiosk-cramped Madina. The Barber (I forget his name) was a cool kind of guy who was trying to be “one of us”. When Cally was done and came out with a shiny, clear, coconut, Barber asked Cally if he would like the “MOF TOUCH”. In Ghanaian Pidgin English, Mof = Mouth. His English is patently self-taught. I laughed so hard that the end-to-end mirror began to rattle. I did not have the heart to tell him he really meant to say MOUSTACHE.