—“To Asamando”—


And one woman sat north
with her chest speaking
then three men stood north-west
hearts pounding

Akosua Bruwa runs out
shouting and singing lamentations
“she is gone”
another voice followed her steps

The beautiful saturday dawn
has been cursed
she has turned into doom

And o’ oblivion
the young baby has travelled
back home from this stranger’s hut

Death is mean!
death and asamando
are two mean souls

Opanin Sintim is still rapped in tears
his bottom and the bare ground
still holding hands
the heart of a man
has flown beyond eyes

death is mean!
The 99 year old woman
under shivers
kept her tongue on pestle
death is indeed mean—

The Village Thinker © 2014

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