(For Dennis Appiah Larbi-Ampofo, Team Dennis)
–In commemoration of World Poetry Day–


mamavi, our feet have felt pains
in the umbrellas of deceitful tongues
that lied and ate hot pepper
to flinch our eyes —

our memories were alive . .
our memories are dead . .

these memories written
in the pages of our shaped lips
forgive, perhaps we might have forgotten
yes, we might have forgotten
why the frog sweat each noon
yet, the lizard that ate sacks of pepper
still dances with his head
in the farm of ‘mesewa moko’

dela, when you meet appiah
tell him, o’ tell him, tell larbi
that the tsetsefly is a small wing insect
yet, the elephant learnt a lesson
in the last story told by ‘abrewanana’

and while we pride our clothes
in the solitude of the night,
let our memories not forget
that in the joy of the rat
the smoke is never an appease


our gate has been opened
by a strange hand
but brothers, do not panic
do not panic
for he that looks for heads
must not forget
he has one pivoting on his neck

mamavi, the road to the forest has turned hands
it has stirred the chambers
of our hearts
as darkness blisses liss

naa, tell konekt
that the sea has not bleached
its colour
and so has the chameleon
that nods to the rays of the sun. . .


ampofo, brother
permit me to rinse my mouth
with grilled maize
as this journey seen
from the pot of old
beams on the sleepless foams
of the celebrant palm wine . . .

and allow me to appease
you, asuming: o’ earthly goddess;
for i
speak not
of mortal gains in the
socket of empty barrels
for that they say
makes the most
noise . . .




When a sitting president dies
A nation is thrown into solemness.

When a nation is of the death of a sitting president
Then the land of the ancestors has calleth.

When a sitting president dies
Then a season of darkness clads her citizenry.

When ‘Asaase Efua’ opens her mouth to swallow a sitting president 
Then a nation is sting to bitter wailing.

When a sitting president dies
Then thousands of clouds of sorrow engulfs a nation.

What a demise!
A bulletin calleth.

Our heart is heavy
Another headline.

Our souls are drenched
A radio talks.

When a sitting president dies
Nations try to console.

When a sitting president dies
Smoke of presidential motorcades leaves the exhaust pipes.

A nation in quick reasoning
A nation on a midnight of constitutional sanctity and adherence.

When a sitting president dies
Thunders walk on skies of a weeping nation.

When a sitting president dies
The true colour of his people is revealed.

When a sitting president dies
A nation then bows in whyism.

When a sitting president dies
A nation’s vision then dims.

When a sitting president dies
A nation then wakes from her fantasies.

Sometimes in the demise
The nation unites.

In the sadness
That factions are brought together.

In the tale
That opposition takes position.

In the tragedy
That frictions inflict not.

When a sitting president dies
Then words seem to be a common artistic tool for all.

Painting the moment with words becomes a norm
But sentiments becomes hard to express for the times ahead.

When a sitting president dies
There then desire to see a united nation surge.

When a sitting president dies
Then a nation is sunk in the turmoil of setback.

I pray no death for a sitting president
I sing no dirge in anticipation of a sitting president’s demise.

For a father of a nation to die
Brings forth thousands of gallons of innocent tears.

I pray
I pour libation.

To let death reverse her coldness
Fate on a sitting president.

@#Nana Arhin Tsiwah__”The Village Thinker”