Prayer Of A Boy By The Roadside


Prayer Of A Boy By The Roadside. 

his lung wrote home
while his face wrote solitude.

here was a soul, lost
amongst boundless feathers
falling off a lone bird’s tail.

his eyes greyed the half-seated moon
and you could read
memories holding themselves
to the feel of an aged-past.

the tuckiness of history
panting down his scored skin,
sent peaceless pieces of pains
which whispered through the exhaust
of wooden vehicular fumes
that fast passed him in gossip.

behind his reddish-dusty hairless head,
a chapter of his prayer wrote:
do not circumcise me..
do not break me..
do not curse me..
for i hold within me
uncured illnesses of a broken home.

© Nana Arhin Tsiwah
All Rights Reserved, 2016
image credit: national geographic tv




Tell me your skin’s truth
whisper to me
the silent voices of your teeth
for I don’t need to see your blood
nor to taste the salinity of your sweat
to prove the innocence of your eyes.


Believe me or unmark my words
paint me like monger with smoke and fish
mould me like a porter with clay in palms
all I have expected from you
is the purity of your saliva.

Life should not always be windy
solutions must not always be rationale
and normality must not always be the norm
we all may be blinded by sheets of seers
or may be liars of calculated burdens
blame me with a pointed finger
let the pointed finger say
I am not worth a sip from the brass cup
but recollect, your justification
is under the dismal test
of your remaining four fingers.

Let’s walk as we share pains
let’s sleep as we thankfully give in to death
and death bleeding thoughts of us
in the books of butterflies
for we have lived not for ourselves
but we have lived because of betrayal
and let veterans sing songs of humors
and strings cling to stools of fate.

I have kept your thoughts inside my open wounds
wounds created out of fleeting wreckages
I was naive then, but now my angels of maturity have resurrected
and I have started nursing yours and mine
let it heal is all I wish for
so I seek your journey after this land to the heavens….

The Village Thinker © 2014