Thu 5 Mar 2020

The mission is complete..
I think of you as I exhale and i sense your presence..
You’re nearby,
I know who you are,
The image is so clear

You are the damsel with the knowing
I don’t care as much
As you do for those thighs
But you bless me with them
They’re gorgeous..

You are the prettiest thing..
My totem symbol of reflection
My reflective diary
You brought back
My light bearer..
Dark as night
Is the time you come
With news tidings

You have so much to offer to the world but the world doesn’t see it
You are of my kind,
I’d say,
But you don’t hear it
Bcos you’re far away..

I miss you so..
But I will find you
Love you
And marry you
Bcos I need you
And that’s why I’ll marry you
Bcos i need you

I can write a book
About how i feel about you
The Aegis will not stop our love
No matter how deviant
Bcos it is holy
A gift of god..

Thank you so much
For the love you have given me..
I will never be the same again.

A letter to Di my sister in law

Hi Di.
Here is a poem i think you ought to check out: it was written by me.

[Leprechaun land.]

As i wandered
through nights of endless dreams,
appeared something
particularly like the town of Bletchley.

It was cold and
it was gloomy;
But something naturally drew me,
through an entrance way, a land;
A beautiful place,
and so golden was the Common.

Sturdy and strong,
a shire, indeed!
Cozy and snug,
quench your thirst and have something to eat

The fire be kindled,
the brew at it’s best.
Exuberant and pure;
a welcoming atmosphere.

I never felt
the greatest joy;
with the scene through the night…
… Love, faith and hope,
in the company
of the Leprechauns.

Happy and Bright
and a joyful face;
evil toils in vain,
everything ordained.

From the earth must
grow the seed,
the hope of the fruit;
the gift of creation,
rejoice in the blessing –
of all that is good, tested and true.


Serpent in the Basket

Do you think you can put me in a basket, black and tightly woven, for your own pleasure.

The ship will not set sail Although you see the (full) moon shining through the leaves of the palm tress.

The trees that were built on the shores of The Land.

It is the evening, and men play withe serpent, with the serpent placed in a basket, tightly wooven.

Nov. 12. 14

Nov. 17. 14 xx..

Day of my arrival, I remember sitting on a chair… the bathroom I came to much later, when I depart

The fruit of hard work.. the professional in his field..

We argued and play fought.. but to no end. We took some time out. To walk to no stairs.

I called him my professional.

He inspired me.. was my vision.. how could one be so talented and a master in his field..

‘Twas told, he walked the Army.. The skyward ways was his life… He echoed in my belly.. Like a trump of baby life…

The time was goodbye.. the message was just writ.. I told you You were cool.. Nd never seen anyone like you.. In secret I did say.

The crowd and the message was beautiful.. Yet no hatred.. The bath I did take home.

Throw bait And get what you need.. The underwater fighting handbook for thieves.

I wrote this in Lisbon – I think, at the airport on my transit to Accra from Switzerland

Papaya and cream.

With arms outstretched to her father,

She remembered her younger years and the dreams she used to have about leaving home and never finding her way back, the point of no return which is growth;

The peregrination, the truth…

She cried as he held her in his arms, never again to let her go.

The end of pain and sorrow.