Posted in Poetry


I am cast in this play
Through no choosing of mine.
Even when it goes awry, I cannot whine.
I have been told not to question the playwright
“Everything is part of His grand scheme.”
Forced to play a role I did not sign up for.
Expectations I would rather not meet
Have been tied to my feet,
And when I come, the audience
Expects them to sound a certain way.

I encounter many players
Each with a different storyline,
That could impact mine.
It is I, who chooses how theirs affect my lines.
They go as has been foretold
And get on with the show.

I too like them,
Am set to play my part
I can act the way I have been told
Or improvise and go with the flow
But I, am not in this script to conform.
Perhaps, I could write my own story
Choosing who I cast in my play,
Within the play.

I may not be on this stage for long
My frail light, will not last the next act
So I will empty myself
And give my all,
To put on a great show
And when my part is done,
The story will still continue without me
But I will be referenced
Because I was everything, but a mere player.
When the show is over,
You may applaud or boo me
Either way, at the end of curtain call,
My name would have been made.

Posted in In My Father's House, Short Stories

The Birthday Fashion Faux Pas

My father, prided himself on being a killer dresser, who was able to match outfits. He always looked sharp and unlike a conductor in an orchestra, he coordinated my outfits into a symphony of clothes I’d rather not wear. I couldn’t reject his fashion choices because I was afraid of the punishment my disobedience could cause.
On my eighth birthday, my father insisted I wear a lycra blouse his best friend in Europe had given me as a present when he came back to Ghana. I made up a mountain of excuses to get out of wearing the blouse but I couldn’t , because, optics! My parents wanted to take photos of me, and mail them to my benefactor. Getting into the blouse was like trying to fit my body into a straw and after several tugging and pulling, the heinous blouse finally hugged me, clinging to my skin like a leech. The fabric then decided to itch, tracing discomfort all over. In great discomfort, I started poking my finger into the blouse, with the notion that if it tore, I would be allowed to take it off. Unfortunately, the blouse came prepared. None of my poking could bore any holes in it. The hope of taking it off after my photo was taken made me grin and bear the itching.
To my dismay, my father announced that, the outfit was what I will have on all day, since it was a special day. I was stuck with the accursed blouse and had to come up with a plan to rid myself of it. After a lot of colourful protests, I was allowed to take the blouse off. As a final nail in the blouse’s coffin, I hooked it to a nail and tore it. My father was enraged when he saw the wide slit in the middle of the blouse, but he couldn’t whip me because it was my birthday. The day ended better than it had started and things turned the happy corner: I had gotten away with disobedience and I loved it.
The day after my birthday, I was whipped for laughing too loudly and I knew, it was the ghost of punishment past, catching up with me.
Posted in Poetry

Mama Says There’s A God

Mama says there’s a God
Who watches over the weak,
And turns their bad days into a fruitful week.
Mama says there’s a God
Caring for the poor,
Whose love for us will ever pour.
Mama says I shouldn’t be scared
For it will be better, even if I am scarred.
I want to believe it’s true
But seeing Mama cry and the things we go through,
It seems there’s no God for Mama and I
If there is, we’re not the apples of his eye.
Mama says there’s a God
Then, He doesn’t like us very much.


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Posted in Poetry


Why make permanent plans?
When you know you’re not here to stay.
Your life’s but a cinder that eats away
When the wind kisses it,
Giving hints of your wasting away.
Every jump, every laugh
Every dance; every action
Sheds a piece of you,
Filling up your memory pool
For when you’re no more.

Why make temporary plans?
When I know I will be here briefly.
My life’s a vehement flame,
Burning violently against this world
That should light the paths of others.
So I’ll jump till I leave.
I’ll laugh till my light goes off
I’ll dance; and when my feet
Are too weak to move,
My eyelids, till they close,
Will move to the rhythm.
Every action, shreds a part of me
But I don’t mind.
I’m here to leave as many marks I can
And when I am spent,
The scratches I’ve made
Will be all that’s left of me.
Posted in Poetry


She hoped for a better life
But in her world, pleasure was rife
And her days were heralded with strife.
In childhood she was scorned
Teased and thrown against the walls of jokes
She felt out of place in her skin.
A camel in a dress:
A dwarf on stilts.
Wherever she went, she was pried upon.
Her fears rooted in disdain.
Life meant only one thing to her: pain.
Shame, that is her name.

Men veered their advances away
Women shunned her company
And children, she was the song of their jests.
People grimaced at the mention of her name
Others disbanded when she approached.
The devil’s child, they called her
Abandoned by the woman who bore her
Denied by the man who sired her
They could not bear the canker of raising such a thing.
No home would receive her
No friend to compliment her falsely
Shame: her name.

They say God drives away flies from the tailless animal
But some do not attract even flies
Mocked by the mocked
She was an island of rotten vegetation
No one wanted to occupy
Hunger was her perpetual bedfellow
In her prime she leaves this perfect world.
The society is free of such a blot.
Killed by the taunts of fellow men.
Murdered by the only friends she had: pain and suffering.
Destroyed by the distress she bore.
Misery: the cloth she wore.

In death there is consolation and rest
There she eventually finds peace.
No! There is no peace for her there either.
That serenity often spoken about,
She is left without.
There, under that stone she lies
Buried at night to cut all ties.
Treaded on by wicked feet.
Even in death she is tortured.
A fate worse than death
Most humans are too human to be humane.
Sorrow: her other name.

Posted in Poetry


Walk with me.
But let not your words be the leash that pulls me along.
Let your heart touch mine where words cannot get to.
My resolve, your actions and these little gestures will melt.

Step into the light
Sheath yourself from conscience.
Let the wind blow you towards it without a fight;
Desire steer you through the night.
Your face: a scintillating ambiance.
The outline makes one neglect
Lines from the Word I hate to reject.
Peel it all!
Oh leave nothing to imagination.
Let the breeze from this ready mouth lull
Yours to succumb;
Nuzzling it  numb
With sweet; none sweeter moist tenderness.
Soar with me into a rapture
None but our bodies intertwined
Has always determined.
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Posted in Uncategorized


Opokuaa Writes



Drink and be merry

Eat and be gay

Laugh! Oh be cheery!

Do what you may.

This is the only way we know how

To live life in the now

No care for tomorrow

Take care of yourself, tomorrow.

Today is here with no limits.

Tomorrow, we do not like you

For we know you not.

Today is our friend

She is here to watch us go high with joy

If there was an emotion after love

I would have it for you, oh Today.

Time is with us, our amiable friend, time.

Time waits for no man, they say.

We wait for no time to play

Hurry slowly and waste time.

We spent all we did not have

Broke rules meant to protect us.

We stole our future before we had it

Gave birth to it before it was born.

In the wake…

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Posted in Poetry


I push you away intentionally
Knowing I love you.
I know I’m not supposed to fall
But here I am with shattered emotions
Yea, you warned me
That I’d fall for you
But I was headstrong

I know this affinity I clutch
Was not part of the plan
I have loved you since you touched me
Felt safe under your embrace
Your gaze has burnt holes into my heart
No one could fill.

I guarded my heart
Bound it with a lot of attitude.
See where we are.
I’ve succeeded in poisoning
My mind against love,
My derelict heart frantically insists on.

Driven you away,
Even though I yearn for you.
I’m too proud
Too afraid to admit
My longing for you.


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Posted in Short Stories, Under The Canopy



Mrs. Linda Nsia-Marfo fidgeted with a tie back holding one of the living room curtains as she listened dejectedly to her mother at the other end of the line. Her mother rarely called her in the morning so when her phone rang she least expected it to be her. After uncomfortable pleasantries she moved to the point with Linda listening dejectedly.
“Mama, not to sound rude but you know Philip is always welcome to my home if he’s willing to cut those things on his head, remove his ear-studs and tone down the crazy dressing.” She sat in the single-seater sofa and sighed.
“No no mama. If you say I’m judgmental, I won’t take it lightly. That bo…” She stopped mid-sentence, listening to her mother with her lips contorted in disdain.
“I’ve heard you. If he doesn’t alter his appearance before coming, I won’t entertain his presence here.”
“That is what you always say. My husband knows my history but still loves me.”
“He knows what he’s supposed to know. Mama sometimes I wonder if you’re truly my mother.”
“Ok. Goodbye. ”
Within her, she knew her mother had not waited for her goodbye before hanging up. She threw the phone into the next couch furiously and settled her chin in her left palm, stretching her legs. If there was anything she could do to stop him from visiting she would. But her hands had been tied by her mother’s overtly pushy behaviour. Every opportunity she got, her mother rubbed her colourful past in her face. Her machismo never went unnoticed by the woman who knew her daughter better than anyone. She hated her mother but summoned all will to cover it. She prayed she will die sooner than later but her mother was stronger than a rock. Never had she seen her visit the hospital all the years she’d known her. If only she could die with her secret, it would be convenient for her. Linda sat there as if in a trance figuring out how she could wriggle her way out of the situation. This was abruptly cut by the presence of a string of cobweb passing her face. She jumped and wiped her face with the edge of her cloth, screaming curses at the unseen spider.
“In the name of Jesus! I cut all ties with the evil one. No weapon fashioned against me shall prosper.” She poured two drops of olive oil into her palm and applied it on her face. The day had started on a bad note and she blamed her mother for it. Even though it had just sprouted, she felt it was just going to bloom eviller and that was a feeling she couldn’t shake off.

Partially praying, she walked gloomily to the bedroom. Her husband was sprawled on the bed with his right leg bent oddly snoring softly. She lifted her hand to tap him but changed her mind and allowed him to sleep in because he had spent almost the whole night praying and reading and slept just some minutes to 5am. He looked peaceful when he slept and the way his belly moved up and down made her giggle. His face smoothed out and relaxed would have passed for that of a teenager had it not been for his grizzly greying beard. Linda counted herself fortunate for having him as husband. He was already an established pastor when they met twenty-nine years ago but that had not deterred him from getting close to her: a barmaid. She had played hard to get at first not because she didn’t want him but felt he was too good for her; but his relentlessness won her over. He went to the bar she worked at and sat in a corner till she closed so he could walk her home. This drew attention to them but he didn’t mind and when she complained that people were talking, claiming he was there to drink under the guise of waiting for her, he ignored it. It was at her insistence that he stopped going there and she also followed suit. They got married six months later to the surprise of those who knew them and to the chagrin of his congregation, with some leaving the fold. The marriage changed her attitude towards life and this made her love him more, devoting her life to and doting on him. The only downside to it was her frustration with the myriad of fasting and prayers he subjected himself and her to. She felt he took the clause “Pray without ceasing” to the stratosphere.
Linda tapped him softly making him open his eyes and smiling sleepily. “Blessed morning my love,” he said sleepily caressing her left hand which lay on the bed.
“It’s time to get up and get on your chariot!” She responded heartily.
“You and your Biblical allusions.” Laughing, he got off the bed and walked to the bathroom whistling a hymn.
“Honey, my mother called to inform me that Philip will be visiting us next week. She asked of you too.” She lied about the asking of him part to make the air less heavy. Her husband knew how much she disliked having her brother around and always advised her to be less judgmental of him but she will have none of that.
“That’s good to know. It’s been ages we heard from him.”
Linda left him whistling in the shower to prepare breakfast.

Sunday church service at Word of Faith Chapel was sublime and well-attended. The thousand-five hundred capacity arch shaped church auditorium was filled with booming glorious music from the choir. The congregation danced elatedly to the tunes as they lined up to give their first offertory. Linda moved her body coyly to the music as she watched them. She marvelled at how the church had grown, praising God in her head. The church had seen continuous decline after her marriage to her husband and most people blamed her, stating God was angry with her husband for marrying her. She had almost left him but for his support, she stayed and endured their taunts, standing by her him. The band’s abrupt stop startled her making her realise she was still standing when almost everyone was seated. She sat down embarrassingly looking about her.
“Let’s applaud the band for that wonderful performance that has moved us to a different realm.” The M.C quipped, making the best out of an awkward situation.
“It’s time to listen to a sermon from our papa of the house, Evangelist Dr. James Nsia-Marfo. Let’s give him a standing ovation as he comes”
The congregation clapped excitedly as he approached the podium. The evangelist was simply but elaborately dressed in a stripped blue and white African-styled short sleeved shirt and trousers. His black shoes, gold Hublot watch and neck chain shimmered sensationally. After praying and singing, he started his sermon on the need to look beyond the surface and have Godly insight in one’s dealings in life.
“When I met my wife,” he smiled, winked at Linda and continued. “People said I married her because of her big buttocks and smooth skin.” This drew laughter and murmurings from the audience. “It’s partially true because my wife is beautiful. But I was drawn to her great personality. Before I knew her, God had directed me to her and shown me the future I had with her and His work. I trusted in God and followed His way and he has never disappointed me.”
This was met with a resounding applause from the congregation.
The evangelist continued the sermon, occasionally looking directly at his audience for affirmation. He spiced it up with jokes that made the audience laugh and far from bored. He ended the sermon, entreating the congregation to follow Christ’s ways, to a resounding applause from the audience.
“Hasn’t our papa done well? Let’s clap so our clap shakes heaven!” The M.C encouraged them. They heeded by clapping amidst shouts of praise-the-lord and shrieks. He called the Acting secretary , Grace Nsia-Marfo, the evangelist’s first child to give announcements.
Grace walked up to the podium calculatingly, hugging a brown leather back notepad to her chest. The hem of her skirt swung side to side with each step. She looked astonishing in a yellow lace skater dress that went a little past her knee. The dress complimented her golden brown skin, mildly accentuating her curvy figure. She was not one to dabble in accessories with the exception of a gold necklace her father gave her on her twenty-fifth birthday; but on this day, she had around her long neck a blue pearl necklace which relaxed on the round neckline of the cold shoulder dress. She completed her look with a blue belt that coiled around her quite slender waist.
Grace half smiled, half winced and greeted the congregation. She knew most of them were forming their own impressions of her clothing ensemble. It worked her up when she received screenshots of a group conversation of an unofficial WhatsApp group which most of the youth in the church were in. They had made fun of the way she dressed , mocking her fashion sense. She acted unperturbed by these, but they affected her and made her more cautious in the clothes she wore to church gatherings.
She delivered the announcements as they simultaneously run on the projector behind her. She prided herself on being an articulate reader who never made blunders when reading, so she was surprised by the bewildered look on the congregation’s face and a shout of “eeei”as she read.
She wondered why everyone was looking at her with horror, disdain and shock as she read. She started sweating, wondering why everyone seated below had that look. She thought of possible misdoings in her past and present life that could elicit those looks. She stood there shivering within her wondering if they knew. What if all her sins were coming back to haunt her? What if her lies had caught up with her? Suddenly, a glimmer of hope flickered in her as she realised their gaze was not directed at her but at the projector behind her. Her legs failed her as she saw what had caused the congregation to act that way. She gave a loud cry, went back a few steps and collapsed into the arms of one of the associate pastors.