THE
WORLD IS NOT A STAGE
The world
(This world)
is not a stage;
WE ARE not
actors.
It only becomes a stage
The moment we choose to act
Never have I acted- daily I live
You can choose YES YOU CAN to act several ages
But not when death attacks,
Sharing not
with us.
That moment you forget to please
You care less for applause.
For death acts without pleasing,
Care less for applause-
“Steep in lassitude”
HELP stop winding wars, famine…
SAVE for peace
(Like
never before)
THE WORLD!
THERE
SHALL BE DROUGHT
1.
There shall be drought.
The lumber man unleashes
an angry chainsaw
That pounces on righteous
trees.
Eggs weep for the straws
the straws for the branches
The branches for the bird
the bird for man.
Man’s good at caring
less. Between him and gold
Everything is useless. He bursts forth the head of rocks
Leaching cyanide-washed
blood into spotless streams.
Tomorrow there shall be
drought green.
2.
There shall be drought.
The five fingers are
suddenly sinful.
The poisonous metal reigns from mouth to mouth.
Snow paints the throat posing threat to the eyes.
Chicken sounds like mortuary to the ears of honest taste.
Rice sounds like rubber. Daily poison is rubber
In the life of the living dead. No wonder-
No wonder clay feet go in glass eyes.
Tomorrow there shall be
drought grey.
THE
MIND IS DUMSOR
The mind is dumsor
As we giraffe for the
mother’s milk.
In the spirit-Akosombo
The deep is below the
limits.
The moon leaves returns
by night.
In this University of
Constant Confusion,
If one thing is not
dangling,
Another thing is glaring
as the sun.
O the mind is dumsor.
I can trace the line perpendicular
to the diameter-
How winsomely it charms
the sight!
And how the eye’s Adjunct
Lecturer
Complains bitterly,
For the waters demand a
cow
As the land asks for an
ask.
These cash cattle who
chose cook for a calling
As the anthill the
buttress for a fortress
Now ride astride on the
pride of Beijing
Bridle the incisors of
our concentration
With their heads above and
their end behind,
Amid the gathering clouds
shooting our goal
As an assegai above the
highest star
Of the goal of their
father who roars in hell.
Dumsor, the national
anthem
Of our purest impurity in
a pure garden.
When the dark sky
thunders, amid the searching
Spirit, I shall blame the
woman!
POURING
MY THOUGHTS TO YOU
(for Nana Aba)
I don’t want to do anything
today
I want to pour my
thoughts to you.
May grass cutters have a
field day.
My trap may have caught a
bird-
May usurpers unleash the
bird,
Looters loot my corn.
I want to spend the whole
day
Pouring my thoughts to
you.
May grass cutters have a
field day.
May they garner my groundnut,
Plunder my palm nut.
The sky like a masquerade
May not furrow for long.
For long lingers the
spring rain.
I want to spend the whole
day
Pouring my thoughts to
you.
Blesssed be the lion the
lion
Who signed a Parthian
scar
On the doe’s slight skin-
The deer is dutifully
dainty.
But how would you have
known
In the absence of
Iscariot log?
I want to spend the whole
day
Pouring my thoughts to
you.
Ours is not the
tortoise’s path where no gun growls
Here gage gazes
From the firing chambers
of the mind.
Thoughts-trigger
actuates.
Fingers foul the heart’s
move.
Conscience converts penalties.
I want to spend the whole
day
Pouring my thoughts to
you.
I want to energize the
fingers
To uncock the tub tap;
I want to water my
flowers,
And turn to a butterfly-
I need to bless the
nectar
With peaceful
intimations.
I want to spend the whole
day
Pouring my thoughts to
you.
Blessed be the sun flower
that to the sun says
Yours is the sky and mine
the sand
But fate conjoins our
comet path.
Along our comet path,
Nana Aba,
I seek to find where the
log fell in your eyes
That I may blow, blow,
blow give me blow.
I want to spend the whole
day
Pouring my thoughts to
you.
WOULDN’T
YOU RATHER BE A GOD?
A serpent in skirt gives
me its sword
Can it imagine what it’s
done to me?
I fancy myself as a god
of poetry
Holding the power of
thunder in my five plus point;
I have it in my power to
cast this stone
Still in my power to
stone this throw
Open the eyes of the sky
to tears of joy
Of sorrow, spit, sneeze
or piss
Tears red as the blood of
the Lamb
Tears as turquoise as *Tuesday
briny
Green as the leaves of
the field
Black as peat as nim tree
charcoal
Signing signatures of
woven words
Reshuffling the stars
stirring the clouds
Painting the sun on white
clouds
Calving the wickedness of
the moon
Favoring the sun failing
the moon
With your rainbow in the
tummy of your hand
Or on the livid lips of **abentsia
Or on the touting thumb
of ***afrikyiwa
The chief of letters
would gaze the sky
Gaze the sky and wet the
earth white
The chief of letters
would pray for rain
Pray for rain and salute the
thunder
The subjects and slaves
would gaze the sky
Gaze the sky and sprinkle
their yam
The subject and slaves
would chant for rain
Chant for rain minus the
thunder
Wouldn’t you rather be a
god
Throwing sense all over
the place?
*Tuesday
briny n. In Ghana, and most African
countries, it is a taboo to go to Sea on Tuesdays. Tuesday briny suggests a
turquoise and undisturbed sea.
**abentsia- n. an elephant tusk horn used to
praise a prominent person or
relate the story
of his life.
***afrikyiwa- n. casternet/ metal for sound.
FAREED AGYAKWAH (b.1984): Kente Agyakwa is the pseudonym of Fareed Agyakwah. He was conventionally educated at the University of Cape Coast, Ghana- the same university whose hospital saw his birth. He has contributed to Ghana’s public life in such organizations as The Statistical Service of Ghana and The Electoral Commission of that country. Agyakwah is an award-winning essayist, columnist and a born PESTEL (Political, Economical, Social, Technological, Environmental and Legal) poet with radical lyrical verve. His works have appeared in several magazines, journals and anthologies.
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