DREAMS

 ... She's dancing in the woods
Her white glacial gown brushing against the greens of all around her
She sways her small hips to the left, lingers enough to sway her left hand in agreement
then slowly and deliberately, she manoeuvres her tiny waist to get her hips to face the right this time
With a cookie smile on her face, she's taking in the rhythms churning from the monkey's drums
Suddenly, an alien sound ... too remote from this beautiful symphony ... persisting ...
She's drifting from herself ... drifting from this beautiful world with perfect scenery and enchanting music
She's waking up ... her phone is ringing
"Hello"? he says. 
She turns to her bedside clock ... 2:47
"Baby, sleeping"?
She smiles ... anger, irritation - all alien emotions when he's involved
"I called to tell you that I love you and to hear you say that you love me too"
at two in the morning? her mind is thinking
"I love you baby" her soul says through her lips
"I love you with my life. I'll always love you. Now go back to la la land."
From a dream to another ... she closes her eyes with a smile
Everything is so perfect!
Is it ???      

LOVE HER!

Regret?
No sir!
You dont get the luxury of regret!
Loving me ... loving her ...
Your choice
You chose
Chose to love her
for better for worse
till night falls
Its not dawn yet
The cock has not even crowed
Regret?
Not an option!
Love her!
Love her so my heart aches
Love her so my tears count for something
Love her so my tattered heart was not for nothing

BABY

The first time he called her "baby"
she could feel her tummy breathe
forming a sensation that
left a knot in her throat
Was it his voice
the expression on his face
the need in his eyes
Baby felt like a baby
His baby ... only his!
Today, he calls her baby
She holds her breath
waiting for her tummy to breathe again
like always
anticipating the sensation
that will travel through her spine
and hit her throat
leaving an elegant knot
Not today!
Baby does not feel like a baby
His baby
Baby feels like a woman
a grown woman slapped awake
from an endless dream
She prays silently
"call me "baby" again,
I need to feel like your baby"
"Baby" he says
as if in answer to her prayer
aware of it's potency 
She gulps in spring air
She feels nothing
Her tummy has lost its ability to breathe
She is not his baby anymore
"I am not your baby"
She timidly verbalises the realisation
He is quiet
He knows its deep
Baby knows he will never call her baby again
He just lost one more power

I WANNA CATER!

U got me stealing glances ...
At your full plump dark lips
thinking up all the ways to turn them red with kisses
At your cheeks
figuring out how my fingers can make them quaver
At your ears
imagining them tingling from my nails ...
Damn! I wanna cater to you

SORROW PARTY

Tonight, she refuses to be strong
refuses to be brave
All night long she goes over
every time her heart has missed a beat
every time it has beat in unison with another
every time it has bled
She replays every promise
slow motions every disappointment
She compels her soul to wallow
tells her heart to grieve
Her eyes need no telling
thier bountiful spring cool her face
Tonight she unleashes all her feelings
embraces her sorrow
enjoys her pain
The pain that is her past, present and fairy future.

SMARTER THAN A 5TH GRADER




I'm on skype with my five year old cousin.
"Smarter than a 5th grader" is showing on thier American screen.
We're having a very animated conversation about toy cars, trucks and wheels.
All my little cousin's luxury vehicles seem to have numbers inscribed on them.
I seize an opportunity to talk about numbers.
So, we're having a whole conversation about all the great things there are about the number 100 - which I'm just learning is his favourite number.
"Maame, so is 1 the first number?"
"Yes darling" I say, happy to have sustained his interest this long.
"Noooo. 0 comes before 1" he says with an excited pitch in his voice and a glint in his eye. My little cousin tricked me!
My auntie is lmao'ing in the background. "You're not smarter than a 5th grader"- she screams from the kitchen.
Hmmm ... adorable kids of today!!!

THE CANDY JAR

She sits across from him ...
her two eyes fixed on the candy jar atop his table top fridge
beautiful, blue, ball like ...
There is another woman
Only a woman would appreciate this practical piece of art
at this exact spot
This other woman knows him well too
Well enough to know about his most unlikely addiction to sweets
Whoever she is, she thinks herself the madam
decorating her man's office!
For how long will she continue to fight silent wars with invisible women?
With his two eyes, he traces her stare to the
beautiful, blue, ball like candy jar
Four eyes are fixed on a jar
Two eyes fall
Two eyes fill up with tears
The beautiful, blue, ball like candy jar 
atop a white table top fridge in an executive office
is all the strength she needs to walk ...
... for good!  

JUST "JOHN" ?

It's the Chandos Road Building at the University of Buckingham.
I'm seated with Kiran, Indian from Canada and Patrick, White British.
We are out of our rooms this cold winter night in quest of knowledge.
The Right Honourable John Bercow, MP for Buckingham and Speaker
for the House of Commons is about to give a public lecture to his
constituents on our campus.
Brilliant delivery by any standard.
It is question time.
He will take questions on his delivery about the work of parliament
and all other constituency matters.
The first to "ask" is a shrill looking gentleman, not a day older than my younger brother.
"John ..." he starts, addressing THE SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS!
"John"? Just "John"? ... I'm thinking, (Ghanaian girl from Ghana where even the Assemblyman is referred to as "Honourable") waiting for the MC to put him to order.
... I wait in vain!
"John" graciously answers his question and everybody else's
Oh! and every body else addressed him as "John" !!!

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY

Loving responsible parents
"Nutty" crazy brothers
keeping things real
Uncles, aunties and cousins
whose love and support astound
Friends who care
and add colour
to life's occassional grey
You give reason to
open the big book
pick the small pen
You make chasing after
dreams, visions, aspirations
worthwhile
For all the joys you bring
May boundlesss love engulf you
Happy happy valentines day!

... ALL DEAR

Dark night
Chilly beach
A knight! Come to save me
On bended knee, watered eyes
... "dilemma of a ghost"
The charm of awkwardness
The allure of fantasy
"I love you!"
"I loved you!"
That you proved untrue
That my heart lies in tatters
... I hold it all dear

HEART TREATS

The first look
The first smile
The first word
The first touch
The first kiss ...
The sheer awesome excitement
Each of these little treats bring to the heart
Love is beautiful!!!

STREAM IN HER EYES

Watching him drive off,
the stream in her eyes flow freely on her cheeks.
She returns where she had fleeting feelings of joy on borrowed time -her bed.
His bed is for another.
As always, she swims in her tears waiting to hear me whisper in her head
You deserve better!
Today, she shocks us both by announcing through runny nose and thunderous sobs
This was the last time. I do deserve better!


I'm proud of you girl!!

... LIKE A BELL

i love you ...
resoundingly, it rings
like a bell,
like a hum in the shower
like a favourite song on replay
like rain hitting the roof top
like a hymn on a chilly sunday morning
like a cock's crow just when the sun takes a peep through the darkness
tantalizingly louder everytime i close my eyes

HIS WORDS

I sit, marvelled.
It's strange how every sentence sinks into my veins ...
He pours out his heart in his words and my heart laps it all up
I'm smitten ... I'm in love ...
It can't be with the man - I dont know him
... only his words! 

DAMN RACISTS!!!

Two blacks in sight in a boarding queue at a German airport in Frankfurt.
The gentleman is asked to wait while a call is placed. He waits while the other black, yours truly, gets her turn.
My bags go through the scanner. I am "bodily" searched. One gentleman comes in to usurp the powers of the gentleman searching everybody else's to give me the exclusive treat of searching my hand bag himself.
He empties the versace's (fake i'm sure) content, packs it up again and calls his colleague to run it through the scanner again.
Meanwhile, my fellow blackie is throwing his hands about as he is now confronted by the lady who placed "the call" and a man -her supervisor, I suspect.
My bag "arrives" from the scanner a second time and is physically or is it manually searched again. Of course, something is confiscated -my hand cream (special for its sentimental value I must add).
At least they're done with me. My country man or continent man is still gesticulating.
As I walk away with a frown, on my way to board my transit flight, I'm thinking ... damn racists! or am I the racist for thinking someone is a racist for doing his job???

1.8 BILLION! WOW!!

Slouched lazily in a chair about 3 meters from a tv set on a Saturday morning, my senses are arrested by GHanaians at their dramatic best in a local movie.
Someone's hospital bill is GHS 2000.00. I tilt my head to the left ... well, plausible - who knows what ails her?
Then a woman frantically ransacks her boyfriend's bedroom and pulls out a cheque from a closet ... "1.8 billion! wow!" she screams and tears out the signed cheque from the cheque book.
I tilt my head to the left, then right, then left again but still ... 1.8 billion? Who writes out a cheque, signs it and leaves it lying around? and for 1.8 billon?? who has that kind of money???
Is it me or do local movies quote money as though they were banks moving money to vault?
1.8 billion??? Wow!!!
Believable stories, please!!!

MY STYLISH PRESIDENT

... the journalist in suit approaches the microphone. Unlike most of his colleagues, he has just one question. It is about speculations that the president intends to "remove" the Chief Justice. After a curt "thank you", he backs away from the microphone and turns to take his seat.
Mr. President calls him back. Mr. President covers the distance between himself and the journalist in characteristic "slow but sure" strides. He takes off his glasses, moves in closer on the man and instructs him to look at him in the eye. "listen to the sound of my voice" he adds.
Then he says ... "do I look like a cut hunter?"
He casually strides back to his position at the front of the auditorium as the room full of media practitioners helplessly applaud him.
President John Evans Atta Mills is not President Barrack Obama but he sure has style!