Love Will Come to Me Tomorrow
Kherson
She will prick with thorns
She will breastfeed
Love does not know what we call love
She will look for her name everywhere
She will be the life of all
Love will clear the heavenly stars from mines
She doesn’t know what the future is
She doesn’t want the future to come
Oh Love, we’ll all suffocate without you
in the electric sky of wires
Image Credit: Sunflowers [wallpapercrafter.com] and Abrams tanks [pngitem.com]
Cedar Christmas Tree
Holiday traditions cling like ivy.
As a youth, come mid-December,
I went hunting for a cedar tree with Dad.
We trekked across tan, sage grass fields,
December-drab pastures, or maybe drove
a mile or two into nearby woods
in his ’49 Chevy to find a suitable
dark green specimen about six feet tall,
not so misshapen it couldn’t be trimmed
to some semblance of conical symmetry.
We hauled it home, square-cut the trunk,
made a stand of two crossed boards
nailed to the bottom.
Whacked off a stray branch or two,
whittled the top to take a star.
The night falls and the women are in the street,
single alone as it seems never to be shown,
Desperate she is forced to do what others sin,
Rewarded for her love and care she could bring,
the doors close as once she is inside,
Raped and tortured by those who were hers,
A woman cries and no one hears.
The pride of Africa
I am born Ghanaian
The tamed wildlife and evergreen forest
The development and democracy
I am born Ghanaian
Continue reading Born Ghanaian – Poem by Kwaku Amoako Fosu-gyeabour