From what was a hushed night

We have now, morning

The silence remnants,

Still enveloping creek and corner

Soon it will have competition

When with sunrise, comes the bustle

And with the bustle, comes the hustle

The hustle, bringing forth a new chapter

The living are readying

To attack the day

Such zeal, such motivation

Pot scoops of such, invaluable

A brand new day

For the lonesome, the nurturers

For the caretakers, the peacemakers

Even more brilliant of a day, for a dreamer

My black sunglasses

Legon Botanical Gardens. Circa 2018

There are so many eyes on me

So many stares, so many labels

There’s something about black

Black sunglasses

Boosted confidence?


Black to go with everything?


Protection from harmful sun rays?


But none of these is the reason

For my copping of a pair

For as timeless as they may have made me out to be

There was something that I didn’t want the world to see


some fall in love

others love the idea of love

some thirst for water

others sip champagne in delight


i’ve fallen for you

you’re a scarf to smoothen out of place strands

you’re velvet to skin

cognac to the lost weeper

tea drank by the grassy bank

a sail to brave through strong winds and tides

pot of gold under the rainbow

a listener, comforter

nurse to the banes of my life


It’s as hard to explain

As it is to watch

Because today, Calm won’t even as much

Meet my eyes, or break into embrace

Two or three gather

There’s a crowd

Involuntarily losing control

I must prepare myself

A breath in, a breath out

What am I inviting in?

What am I letting out?

I’m held back suddenly

Silence, as I try to articulate

It’s like I have no voice

And something keeps pulling at my nape

Ten fingers, seemingly turned dozen

I tell you, Calm is out for me

She steals my voice

Latches onto my neck

And casts me into the springs of anxiety

Haze Art

The wretched awake

From nights of despair

The elixir bottle down to drops

There is the haze

To remind of pressing affairs

That life has seized our props

Heavy are the sighs we make

Pleading to our avengers, helpless whispers of ‘Sirs’

And by eve, the fallen tears must see the mop


When the hours are long gone

And we ache in our bones

A place of rest, we find to repose

So we close our eyes, and curl our toes

And for some hours or more, our troubles subside

But in the middle of the night, we awaken wide

And are reminded once again of our pending perils

Wishing we could sleep forever, take some sleeping pills

To forget all our worries and put them on hold

But it continues years and years, till we are frail and old

Realizing then, the fallacies on TV we’ve been sold

Only maybe, we’d be closer to a forever sleep

Shutting our eyes, one final time, with all our uncertainties buried away deep.


The Living Are Dead

The living are dead

Moving day in, day out

But sadly unmoved.

The little things are shrouded

By meaningless pursuits.

And the words they utter, sans passion.

They sleep, but are without rest

Their tomorrows, driven by a superficial mind

Their hearts, as keyholes

In dire need of the right key

To unlock the door,

The door to a life with purpose.

But see, the living are dead,

The wait for revival, indefinite.




The words we fear hearing,

Rejection pierces the heart

And then for a moment we’re abeyant

In shock,

Everything in a slow revolve,


But falling, really,

Like petals to the ground.

Perpetuity and pain, it’s worse.

A pain that constantly grapples,

Eyes that go blank, legs that wobble

Shaky hands, a mind focused on one word,

No, No, and more ‘No’s. It echoes

A reminder that,

We fell,

Just like petals to the ground.

But with time, we triumphed

Channeling distress into positivity

No longer were we petals to the ground,

No longer were we frozen in time.

And the mind? It was a haven of restored purpose.

Like petals to the ground we fell,

Now we bloom, and sway with the wind.


That it is well.