I hid my love in my blood


I hid my love in my blood

i hid my love in a stream
of satless blood.
there she goes
unseen in the clads of breath.
there she sit in the leaves
of million airs.
she is a file of darkness,
a page of shade
flamed in existential beauty.
the night birds are home now,
their songs undiluted
in nectar in dew of wet eyes.
day breaks and she sprouts
out of a butterfly’s heart.
midnight dies and she sweeps
her soul across the inocence
of the early sun.
i hid my love in my blood
not for the touch of the winds!
I hid my love in my blood
not for the steals of the subdued tongue!
but for her petal laughter
that should she die, she might be
resummoned once more
into her left scar in my flesh
with every drop of my blood.




These three poems have been written in reckoning of that lover I lost to a weak-pillow.


This Wife; A Coffee-Box, A Lover

Lonely birds wrestle through
in deserted waters, in Malian musics
and chains of mustached-lips
the family becomes dis-united
though blood-is-blood,
there is no healing like death.
she gave me stars of her golden melanin,
that when night comes in scarlet hungry feet,
I would used them as cover-sheet
all you’ve got reading when night is stripped of her clothes
is watch your own shadow
feel-a-fell of a loaned saliva
get wasted like tears of an orphan

It is with a withering heart,
a meditating spinach spinal
that I yearn for the coffee-box
as if there are no golden dreams
should a man’s chest be covered 
with loam-blouse of dimmed sheets
“live long, longer-lingers”, said my brother
when whispers becomes louder than whistles
would the wet-bird cease irridiant moments
tapping through beautiful pregnant eyes of an owl?
I bet veterans to canvass their slippers
like igniting gloom to cleanse this laps..

Lotus Memoria; O’ Withered Bride


i crane to steal
the depth of the sun
each night our fate salivates, 
with those colourful
embraces in mind, 
those warmth felt before
the breeze took a stroll


our minds which walked-on
on each mushroomed twilight,
brings back minutes of counted silence


weren’t we meant for each other, 
o’ scorched bride
deep coloured memories snaps at me
of these uncured ailments


a. bleeding heart
a. swallowing soul
a. broken branch
a. withering leaf
(this fertile land,
is now a muted desert)

This Lover; Greens, Future

She whispers balms
on trumping roads,
she rearranges bones
beneath soggy tegument,

Herself, by convoys of a lover
cedar leaves are base
that renders tea-layers
seductive reflections,

“I love you”,
was an epi-centered 
galamasey talk
it wins not hearts
of carpenters
who still litter
hammers and nails

Greenish are the ferns
which roamed her lips,
dark are the paints
which noveled her soul,

Should tomorrow comes begging,
I shall dabble this Pond
listing how this lover
aborted greens
for a foe-future.

All Copyrights Reserved
© Nana Arhin Tsiwah
Pic Credit: Chalewote Arts Fest, Jamestown-Accra…




There remained no little concentration
when love dies and breath is ceased by cotton…
in this beautiful song echoing from the streets
lives a soul-in-a— song written by butterflies.
life rolling like moss of roses
charms caging browned leaves
on interludes of greys and ferns…
when love dries and nose purged with foam
shall night live by light and light live by night?

She, sits and stirs the moon’s ribs by winds
adorns and tickles rays of thunderstorm—
he, that sips stars and aircrafts
threading clouds and smoke into rains;
i have walked with rodents in-pesticides,
and like cigarette: a smile is a layered smoke
evening to evening and noon to noon,
the sea breached laws and regulations
of cities, men and soft hearts
footing lenses and abridging chronicles…

In the airs of birds and bats,
fogs and dews sit on porcelains
of bards, saints, priests and warlords
whose beliefs are but of love awashed!
wherever the snake’s bite caressed me
by hairs, bones, teeth, and abdomen
these songs of the orphan and the molested are felt…

Evil has no feelings for a growing songstress
like the seeds that falls into a harmattan crack
if not why must the carpenter
sing of roses and tulip aquariums?
when the wood-man toss of furniture for housewives…
a speech made on clouds
under shoes and behind calfs
is by far, by nighs, the drums
in which pollinations of babies
and of routes of leaving brimmed…

©Nana Arhin Tsiwah



(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…

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The devil is a she


—The devil is a she—

I stood still like a pregnant ocean
the lust in her painted eyes
stole me onto a voyage
inside the deep of her bulging mind

Her lightly purpled igniting fingers
tickled the lines on my chest into titillation
ionised and drenched in thought
I stole the steeping valley of her hills

Sticking her tongue out
like a cunning viper
she entered the chambers of my mind
and ate out the tenderness of it brain

She devoured my thought
consumed my whole into ashes
turned my charms into sand
the devil surely is a she…

Gripped and caged into eternal torment of lust
seven-hundred million dead demons
enlivend by her single kiss
the devil is indeed a she…

Now as I stand in barneess
shame chases me to sweat
at the speed of a mocking wind
she stole me by dream
and enslaved me by reality
the devil is truly a she….

The Village Thinker
© All copyrights reserved, 2015

~First night love song~


~First Night Love Song~

Let us go far, you and i
Let us mesh deep, my skin and yours
To reach out our yearn
Far have we come and love have we earned
Its act must we do
In the room must we go
Go do our thing
For you know them all
And i am singing it so raw
Oh, do not ask “What is it?”
It’s better to take a visit

Let us travel, you and i
For there lies a path for us to marvel
A well targetted level
Never think we shall disturb the universe
For we shall first say a prayer in a known verse
And our swing on, swing in shall we reverse

Surely, there will be time
For our love long to reach its prime
For touching what is soft and hard
There will be joy alas!
Never ever mutter a retreat
For far have we come
So shall we press on earning our yearn

(C) V.Sefah Anokye

-—of love and days—-


-—of love and days—-

So even within this golden memory
of yesterday’s blissful tales
and of our heart’s tunes
the mind still knows those tales
to weave with diamonds  before this sea of love…

Sometimes pain takes the magic away
sadness plays the devil’s role
pity trails on lines never seen
thoughts walks on coals of hopelessness
yet the heart speaks in millions of intangible words…

Prayers offered before the wind
citations of love poured into a jug
one big heart song composed
before the gate of heavens
love that yields under the plights of the sun
the heart is a master composer of it own lyrics…

Nana Arhin Tsiwah
© All copyrights reserved, 2015

—“Let me be your Pharaoh”—


—-“Let me be your Pharaoh”—-
(She who has breached my soul)

O’ charming damsel of immortal soul
You who have cast spell on me
And enslaved me in this deep ocean
You whose hair sweeps her feet
And petals eyelids painting deeper inscriptions
Inside the horoscopes of my mind
Let me be your Pharaoh—-

Let the singing inscriptions in your heart
The veins of your glowing skin
Share the deeper resonanting light of me
Let the beauty inside of you
Sit at my right side on this throne of love
That I may rule over your soul
That forever this Kingdom shall thrive
Under the warmth of our glowing love
And of the seed of your womb
Let me be your Pharaoh—-

As I stand here in my mind’s chamber
Your refractions take paintings of me
The mind is growing fonder
Your fountain beautiful memories
Fills the cup of my holy wine
And I wish to drink till am intoxicated by your love nectar
Let me be your Pharaoh—-

That I may rule this universe with you
Till the curtain that separates
Heaven from earth gets folded
Let me be your Pharaoh—-

The Village Thinker © 2014



(Thou Queen of beauty)

My Queen, my beauty
beauty among the beautiful
of all goddesses
in air, on land and in the sea
you my Queen are my soul

that glorious beauty
of the heart of a King
your lips send love tales in me
your purpled eyelashes
renews in me memories of yesterday

If beauty were consuming ashes
and feelings like river-shed
inside your beautyful temple
I shall sit worshipping your enchanting soul
O’ Queen of the eastern clouds

The Village Thinker © 2014