Son In Lost Cowries


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Son In Lost Cowries

son:
tomorrow,
the Harmattan
shall clamp
me into her
Eyelids.

do not weep
into a broken
afternoon
Calabash
of wonder
when you read
from a bloated
sheet of blood
Stains

that a big locust
swallowed
me before
the evening
Lizards
grew grey.

son:
i have wandered
through cold tears
on the surface
of twilight
Palm-wine,

i have seen
the unmentioned place
where the sea
pockets her soul
on the lips of
Ancestral-music.

do not purge
your duct
when you finally
dream a cow
devoured me
like
Hay,

for i have paid
to the insolent winds
the pains
of the castrated
Bat..

© Nana Arhin Tsiwah

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