(a song never sung)

Tomorrow I shall write a story
with deeper bloodlines
of words that wouldn’t be accepted
by this prison cell mate,
I shall write of someone beautiful
beautiful as the her streaming smiles
and beyond the ocean, birds would sing
my fears before sunset on Afadjato

There are many reasons I hate to sing this song
alone and during an ugly night like this
first the song bleeds the heart,
draws pitiful dagger, like blue flame
then again it flows to saddened me by the pillow
like prodigality; the torment is unheard

Whenever this page turns red,
pigment of reddish red oasis
begins to draw-lines of pain
then at one end of the violin’s lips,
a beautiful face appears from a dream
she is beautiful, thrice her smile stole me
but I cannot tell if she feels the same moss
growing on my skin, like grey horripilation
running on lines of sentiments

I don’t know how the tune of an orchestra sounds
but the octaves of a dirge are sure common a mirage
for the heart seems dying everyday
when the thought of you drives it wheels around
like shame and game, it puzzles
when the feeling of lost hope sits by the piano
to lament another night of love fought but never won—

Whereas in dreams I am the happiest guitarist
with fame of Lusaka and tales of Zanzibar
like another marathon won on mount Kenya
ready to be hymned in Cairo
before the beautiful maidens of Pharaoh;
but herein on this soil of reality
knives of love bleed the depth of my heart
and even if I know, truth is
she might never love me in return…

Nana Arhin Tsiwah
(The Village Thinker)
© All copyrights reserved, 2015
image— ®from K.Baiden…

Posted from WordPress for Android


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