Accra’s Hawker

I wait for every car to slow down,
parallel run, cars that moan,
like, me they too are tired,
humid, drenched in sweat,
heat, long at the intersect ,
pure water, vend a packet.
quench someone else’s thirst,
dreams are so dead and decrepit,
I fear every spirit,
haunted by some threat,
I seek a share of fortune,
illusory pelf to be strewn.
The donor is long gone.
He avoids the Sun this afternoon!


My friend’s home

Suvarna in darkness

Me deserted by my friend.
His house once a home, now locked.
Shadows though not even a street light,
The walls may have some memories,
Of who hesitated to enter , now barricaded,
The dust on the grills have rusts, of who dared enter,
Searched responseless for a friend, and withdrew,
Told, he a migrant now.
Toiling hard, fortune seeker,
Even in the searing heat of noon,
Must be feeling cold in sweat,
Seeking out to live a life of grandeur,
But here is where we laughed rich and loud,
We now just live our lives so quiet.

Waiting for you by the window…

Room with a View

As you hurry to leave for your office,
I am weighed with short parting’s sorrow and sighs,
My heart is a room so cold and damp,
The heater though stacked like books,
On time’s rusty library is now cobwebbed,
The hope of your return, keeps me glowing warm,
I stare out through these blinds my window,
Of fond anicipation, seek to wait , bide my time,
Count countless cars flip past,
Hear the threats of time’s treads,
Sense the fog of my thoughts rise,
See hooded students cowering like me, from solitude,
Running into the future with expectations,
Your return is all that I wait for.

Returning Home

Rocks, Bricks, Clay, lore,
Hopes in every sweaty pore,
Mason’s laughter echoing,
Carpenter’s brags ricocheting ,
Flues of corridors of dreams,
Thoughts unfettered in reams,
As snakes and mongoose fight
Territory all, in hollowed fright,
Leaves scurry at the lurch screech,
Intellect lost to an innocent niche,
A coy glance, you cross the steps,
It is all memory , a trance in trips,
I flee , in ecstasy, in haste ,
I prefer to live in my past.

River Ganges

As you unlock yourself from the Himalayas,

Hurling boulders as they gurgle along side you,

Reformat  this ancient, harrowed , civil terrain,

I stand by your  decrepit  bank in fear and awe,

Touch your cold water to soothe my torments

Wash my sins, drench my dilapidated emotions,

Watch the decrepit dirt  slip away in the splash of your colours

I think of my ramshackle  past, then,  snap the tenuous thread

Death of thought, of reflect, of felt, of sensate, of disgust,

Birth of light, of detach, of spirit, so indifferent, of calm,

A thousand lamps lit along you in hurried,  hazy  hues

Each one a tear drop of time,  your biographer,

Me lost save in your arms , so welcome  icy cold,

You drench with your countless drops, chill my fire within.

The Climb up in Life

Barefoot climb.
Steep plane vertical.
Holding onto slippery rails.
Hills Blue and Black.
Dark, deep forests swaying wild.
Hot rocks smouldering.
Stones simmering in noon heat.
Lone companion on a long trudge .
Looking for the crest.
Elusive with every step.
Yet higher the ascend.
Hear the irregularity of breath.
The blaze of a fire.
Then the Sight of the Invisible.

The Ghost Chat

Ghost below the Sunset?
Ghost below the Sunset? (Photo credit: Scott M Duncan)

Ashen, pale, macabre, worried,
He helped me find some ground,
Several lost miles we traversed,
Me looking to him as a guide,
Through the clouds, he conversed,
Each morning, as I drove west,
He storied me of dreams unkempt,
Of white fields we furrowed, sweated,
Dust strewn sapling irrigated,
Grappling hazy emotions unchained,
Remorseless, winged, ghoulish, morbid,
Crows that refuse rice yoghurt rolled.
You should have lived through the night,
We indeed could have at dinner laughed.

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