You’re Going To Be A Star



She sat on the stool, getting her makeup done. Everything was falling in place. For a moment she was lost in her thoughts, till someone tapped her shoulder and whispered, “You’re going to be a star!”



You’re going to be a star

Gone will be your gloomy days

You will shine from afar

And everyone will know your pretty face.


A star is born

And these prying eyes,

They want their story.

Whose story?

I thought this was my journey.

A pretty face,

Accompanied by a damning headline

They never spoke of the intense pressures

Stalking, panic attacks, anger, depression.

They poked their noses,

Today was the overdose

They staged public humiliation,

Tomorrow, I use the knife they handed me

A broken star, that they may all have a piece.

And as rose petals litter my coffin

The words will resound,

“You’re going to be a star.”


I’m a broken star

Reminiscent of gloom befallen

My shine dimming from afar

And very soon, my face shall be forgotten.






The Balloon is Here Again








Looming trouble, miserly spells,

The balloon is here again.

How long the stay, we cannot tell,

Low profits and huge losses, what’s there to gain?


Travelling with the wind, conspicuous from afar

The balloon is here again.

Soaring taxi fares, less frequent visits to your local bar,

As you count your notes, still know that the bills must be paid.


So colourful, yet intensifying our labours,

The balloon is here again.

Lads asked if it would rain pesewas,

These patriots, worried they remained.


Days go by, we pray the stay is temporary

The balloon has been here for a while.

Dull market days, long queues to board a lorry,

Inflation at an all high, not so many can smile.

Marilyn’s Perils



Cinder in the fireplace

Liquor empty decanters

The knife is in the hands of a pretty face

Somebody doeth wrong,

She, that is swathed in taffeta.

The moonlight entering darkness’ territory

Knife, back in its case, she ascends the stairs

He that is visibly absent, she imagines as her escort.

Breaking into a short-lived smile, the flashbacks start haunting,

That dance on the rooftop, where for another he professed love.

Scarlet she wore, heartache she bore.

Tears staining the fingertips of her white satin glove

She, She had it all, but betrayal, She never saw coming

Entering the chamber, She is deep in thought.

The night is beautiful, and still young

Climbing out the window,  surveying the rocky backyard,

The unthinkable plays at the back of her mind, a dirge waiting to be sang.

Chills through her body, hand imprints on the wall,

She steps back through the window and down onto the floorboard

Walking past the dresser into the bathroom,

The tap she leaves running to fill the tub, entering when half full

Still in her attire, she submerges.

One… two… three… her face appears at the water’s surface

Again under water, but reappearing seconds later

Wrapped with a towel, she’s reclined on the bed with a lost gaze

Tragedy avoided three times, sheer folly!

Heartache, insanity, they’ve kept her company.

“…Ghana, your beloved country, is free forever…”

Ghana gained independence on 6th March,1957. In the moments before, during, and after his great speech, I wonder what must have been going through the great Kwame Nkrumah’s head, and what he thought independence meant for us.

Here’s a little something I came up with based on some of the lines from his speech.


“At long last, the battle has ended”

Here in their numbers the people are waiting

Joy, oh joy, freedom has been long in coming.

A new chapter for our nation, glory, oh glory

I will stand to deliver a speech on our liberty.

“We are no more a colonial but a free and independent people”

Reliance on ourselves, is the way forward

Duties we must uphold because today imperialism is dead.

People! We must unite, steer steadily in ascent ,

For the future of our country lies in our gifted hands.

“…when the African is given a chance, he can show the world that he is somebody”

Double We will work, double the success.

Obstacles, wearisome they might be, but we will impress

You Mr. Nobody can be a Somebody endeared by Everybody,

They may have their cronies, but let us cultivate courtesy.

“..the black man is capable of managing his own affairs”

Necessity demands ability, We are able.

Our race is not of incompetency, We are not feeble.

Co-operation is the secret to sustainability

You and I must build on our credibility.

“Ghana is free forever and here I will ask the band to play the Ghana national anthem”

How long we fought for our independence

Today, Lord we stand grateful and united.

Ghana is sovereign!

And to the world we sing our beloved anthem.

The Flow

Puzzle Pieces _7












The puzzle pieces,

They float all around us,

Some at arm’s reach, others so high

There’s some subtleness, there’s a flow

It’s a steady process, this flow,

It’s a masterpiece in the making, this puzzle

It surely is a work in progress.

We cause the disturbance in flow, our impatience,

Our selfish desires, they create a disorder,

The fear we’ve allowed to control us, it shoves in the hollows

But diligence, if this we value, impresses a blueprint.

This blueprint is our purpose.

It’s us knowing who we are,

It’s us showing our light to all

It’s us realizing our self actualization.

There’s a flow.

The puzzle pieces we must put together,

But, there isn’t a one-way street to arriving at the final destination

The trials will come, we must learn patience and endurance

Likely, we could envy a puzzle of another,

We would sometimes go  taking pieces meant for others,

But they will not fit. No, they won’t.

It all comes down to understanding the disposition that there is,

There are the pieces, there exists some unique enigma, and there is a flow.


new year

Burgundy ruffles layering my knees

Stomach in, I can hardly breathe

Lavender filled breeze everywhere,

Soon approaches the new year.

Glass half filled with chardonnay

Diamond stud missing, organza gown in disarray

Peering through the window; blazing skies, and reflecting people

They anticipate the happy new year

Church bells ring, choirs joyfully sing

Chauffeur races to the chapel square

Trench coat on  to keep me from freezing

I can still make it before the new year

Burgundy truffles I savor in delight

Out of the limo, my dress is too tight!

Liquor breath and wobbly feet, oh dear!

Through the church doors I go, it’s an hour before the new year

Preacher done ministering, people sing and make merry

I sit and smile, I  have been too extravagant.

A silent prayer, the Lord has been unerring

Rousing shouts fill the chapel, it’s the happy new year

Finally, this is the happy new year

I am resolute and optimistic

Bidding farewell wishes, I walk back to the chapel’s rear

Chauffeur drives back home at my finger’s flick

Shoes kicked off, dress slits, I don’t care

Next time I won’t be too over the top

Warm, comfortable clothes on, I brush my hair

A cup of tea downed, and on my sofa I drop

So this is the new year I have  welcomed

I am thankful, but tired.

Sleep, I have succumbed, fill my head with wonderful dreams,

And dear Lord  do wake me when I have had plenty rest.




She speaks, I listen and stare in wonder,

Poised, a whim of the moment,

Why can’t I see that this is me?

She is a voluptuous figure, curves back then mistaken to be extra pounds,

Beautiful and alluring, très étonnante, c’est moi,

The day has arrived, a whole new woman,

A free spirit, ready to delve in new beginnings,

The sad memories of the past have been shattered to pieces,

Hope for the future, is in her that I see and admire,

She has seen the best in me, helping me to my feet

But, why can’t I see that she is I?

She watches her muse, and I listen to my teacher

She claps and out of exhilaration screams at me, she is proud.

The lonesome nights will be no more, gloomy mornings have been replaced

It’s sheer bliss, he that couldn’t see the good in me, she has seen

She is I, C’est moi,

Ponder I may, but I know better, now that she is here

I’ve been cradled for long; I woke up a new woman

I kick my heels off,

Sway my body side to side,

Hugging my curtains, serenading my wall paintings,

There’s desperation to go on,


Falling down to the carpet, I can’t help but laugh at myself.

Boy oh boy, what now!

The Other Woman



She blushed, her lips she pursed, she liked what she saw,

That afternoon when paths crossed.

Tonight draped in pearls, dressed in silk,

She’s a vision to behold.

Red lipstick, infallible, and a head full of curls

She bats her eyelashes thick with mascara

Always one to make a lasting impression.

All isn’t well , locks have been opened,

There was always a story to tell.

She makes her way past the fountain

Voices in her head echo what she has ascertained.

A pounding heart, she manages to suppress the ‘waterworks’

It will be okay, it will be.

Rage is not her parting gift,

But her sorrow is a well so deep.

Composure steps in as she leans in for the embrace,

He can tell, he’s been found out.

She knows she is the other woman.

Somewhat complicated, he hadn’t been able to choose,

And now a beauty he stands to lose.

As she whispers, “I don’t want to leave…but I must”,

Her perfume penetrates deep into his airways.

The other woman wants not to be an option,

Tonight the other woman departs, 

She, she has become a woman with a choice.

A peck on the cheek, she lets go, she stares,

The other woman she is, not anymore.

Her shapely figure walks towards the bar.

A celebratory glass of wine, 

For a choice morally inclined.

The Essence of Self Esteem


Flatline on the e-k-g. “We lost her?” said one doctor. “Confirmed” said the other. At this moment only one sound could be heard in the room. No chords, just one note. Two eyes closed, two pairs of motionless limbs. The sound lingered a while and was made to stop. Silence then prevailed. Teary eyes, faces of pity, and a mother feeling so guilty that she had been helpless with her daughter’s case. And how did this happen?


Life is no fairytale. When you laugh, the world laughs with you but when you cry, you cry alone. The mirror spoke to her. “Look at yourself! Aren’t you ashamed? With that disfigured nose, you will land no magazine cover. Your body, imperfect and shapeless. How on earth can you decide to actually show yourself in public?! You’re not beautiful, no you’re not. You don’t deserve to feel good about yourself.”

Adina pulled out her drawers, throwing things out, searching for it. What was it? “It” was something that had become her best friend. “It” was a bad friend, in fact a dangerous one. But pain had now become a sort of pleasure for her. The marks made on her skin, which were now scars because time had passed, could have sent warning signals to anyone who had seen them. Unfortunately no one saw or noticed anything, thanks to the many long sleeved clothing that Adina owned. Not even her mother had noticed that something about her daughter was wrong.

Knife in hand, she slit her wrist. The pain was unbearable and blood gushed out. “My body deserves this” she kept saying to herself. Tears and blood mixed together on the floor. Her whole life had been a battle, one that she was slowly losing at that moment. This time wasn’t like the other times. She had cut deep into herself. A troubled mind had turned suicidal. For every pint of blood lost, a part of her life slowly drifted away.

She began to fall in and out of consciousness. The door opened and her mum saw her lying on the floor in a pool of blood. She screamed, “Adi-naaaaaa! Adi-naaaaaaa…What have you done to yourself?”  “Mummy, the battle is over. I lo-ve….”Adina mumbled without even completing her sentence. She was unconscious again. Her Mum rushed her to the hospital, where she was sent immediately to the emergency room. It was too late. The battle was finally over. Adina’s eyes had closed into a world of darkness.