Prayer Of A Boy By The Roadside


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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

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SOCIETY IS INK


I have written many pieces
Pieces expressing peace.

I am not a Lord of ink
Neither an Emperor of words.

Yet in daily deliberations
I feel the urge to ask the simple questions.

When humanity survive
Generations would suffice.

In thees line of comprehension
There lieth thees aroma of reasoning.

I speak from a novice traits
But I think from a pocket of satisfactory view point.

Where we fail to do
We fail to reaching the attainment point.

Individuals must grow
So must society.

To write in fiction is
A tale told in hovers.

I am simply
An inquirer, let society speak.

Individualism is a 
Misplaced vision.