BeHIND CLOSEd DOor

She asked we meet at her house,

And I was like, Aarh!

For she wore mini skirt and blouse,

So I had to leave the door ajar.

Thus how I rather fell to her char.

Oo son of Abel

Fearn't thee the daughter of Jezebel?

For all men, your dad was the last

To be soiled with her lust.

So that in Ghana, aside malaria

All medication has an ability

Far stronger than Viagra

Supposed to enhance sexuality.

She gave me a dose

For the cordial path we paved

And we introduced it to those

Who in Christ, were already saved.

Now they buy it more than us

Taking it in as much as

We have had in our lifetime,

Until their untimely lifeline.

But there's a spirit in man

Able to nurture a holy generation

With pure heart not woven in yarn

In this era of erotic dispensation.

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WHEN I GROW UP

Now I don’t know what to think, but some day it will all be in ink. I look without seeing, am I even a human being. To me, everything exists without meaning. My language is a cry, but I only calm myself with a smile. Today I take milk, but tomorrow I will break bones. Now am wrapped in silk, but soon I will wear clothes. Hmm! They leave me in pampers, am now among toddlers. Both the young and old handle me. Love and admiration are all I can see. Sometimes how hurtful it can be, especially when bathed by the geriatric. I have no option than to accept their plea. In fact a little smile does the trick. I am now a boy but frankly, am coy. I can’t even cook but I can eat yolk. Where is all the tenderness, where is all the care? How come all this harshness, why all these snare? My ideas are not significant, as tiny as an ant. All my vocals create fun, commonly ignored with laughter. I hate this pan; maybe, I should sound louder. But my cry is an unnoticed plea When shall I be free, I wish I ...

YOUR own PEN

Something mostly divine, Sometimes, it's ours to define. Unlike the plant called Vine, Destiny seldom has pine. And it is our duty to prune and refine. From the feet till we see the spine. It may be a good omen, To which we shout Amen. It might have a fault to mend or dirt to filter, Which might make us think that God did falter. But we can write our own destiny. Yes, we always do. Remember that road you used to the mill, The particular person you talked to, Has it not been your own will? When you wanted to learn, Even when in prayer you did yearn, You took that training seriously, And you passed out successfully, That was your own destiny. That was your pen on paper. When you write, no one can alter. I am the secretary of the God you don't know. Now wait while I print yours out to show. Written down by you as white as snow.

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