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IN A QUANDARY STAND WE

Opokuaa Writes

 

IN A QUANDARY STAND WE

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, Uncategorized

I Stopped Trying

I stopped watching left, right and left again
I didn’t care if I was knocked down.
I stopped taking my medications,
Daring whatever was eating me up to get worse.
I was ready for the worst and didn’t care how I left.

I stopped having meaningful relationships
Afraid of opening up
And getting disappointed all over again.
I stopped exercising and checking my weight:
Nobody ever been too fat for the box.
I stopped talking about my plights
Not knowing how it’ll be taken.
I crave neither pity nor attention;
Because I stopped longing for something
That could never be there.
I stopped praying and begging for change.

I stopped trying because remission is just dormant relapse.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

RIP

Ah! This is the measure
Is this the cloak that I am to wear infinitely?
It does not befit me
No. Disgrace does not suit
This frame that is in pursuit
Of honour and pride shrouds hopefully.
Ruin is not the cloth I want
I rip through it joyfully.
I tear through the gown shame robes me with.
I turn in this obloquy for praise.

I rip through this cloud
That hovers my head
The shadow that dampens my spirit
And makes my mind split
Into several pieces: minutiae of pain.
Each strongly woven into my skin.
I rip through them
Going back to nature’s herm
New beginnings forebode fear
But it is better to shed off
The old skin of infamy.
No more will I be identified
By my tears and tatters.

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An Anthology of Melancholy And One Other

me

An Anthology of Melancholy And One Other is a collection of Poems by Nana Opokuaa Adarkwah. It features:

  • By The Furnace Of Life
  • The Men Of Straw
  • The Sinews Of War
  • Turmoil: Her Name
  • Joined By Division
  • Listen Not To Hear
  • The Betrothal Betrayal
  • Nostalgia
  • In A Quandary Stand We
  • The Lies I Tell Myself When I Am Truthful
  • Don’t Mind My State Of Mind: I Am Dead
  • At Peace With My Battles

 

 

 

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

THE MEN OF STRAW

 

Along lonely roads we roam

Going after the well-off

Trying to find aid at their feet

Yet we find none.

Plodding in filth and poverty

We are marooned and lynched

As we look at the stars like everyone else

Even nature has no place for us

Our backbone is no bone

 

We have gone places in our dreams

Been dead in our nightmares.

How we laughed, seeing those who shun our company

Weep by our remains with candour

The love we yearned, was lavished on our remains

Our lungs burst with laughter

The only time we have smiled.

Tomfoolery in our death parade

A sight their tear-battered faces were;

Locked in total sullenness

Death gave us a status or none

 

Happiness, we realise is not achieved by the snap of fingers

We are called the crazy creatures

Drivers of fancy cars of filth

The forlorn friends of flies

Effigies of disgrace.

We stand down and throw our hands up

Never cut out for the life we seek.

Finally we keep hope dead.

 

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A Dying Voice

As the world evolves, cultures merge and foreign lifestyles and tastes are adopted. My country Ghana has not been spared by this. This is very good as it broadens our way of life and makes us open to new things everyday. However, in the process of adopting other cultures, we tend to shun our own. Be it consciously or otherwise, we have taken a turn for the worse in terms of our local language.

Almost everyone one meets in Ghana speaks English. I agree this is great as it means the literacy rate of the country has rocketed. But should this be at the expense of our own local languages? Should we sacrifice our languages in the quest of learning another? Little by little we are tying our own tongues with borrowed languages and killing the original voices of  Ghana.

In a country where most people are going for Ghanaian names instead of foreign ones, it is disheartening to realize that most of our children can’t speak our language. Grandma needs a translator before she can communicate with her grandchildren. Aku the house-help insults Tricia everyday because Tricia doesn’t understand the Ga she speaks. Elinam claims he’s Ewe but he can’t say any Ewe greeting. Most of our children can’t speak any Ghanaian language and their parents look on proudly as if it is the best thing since Independence. Not quite long ago my mother was walking behind a woman and her daughter. “Don’t step in the river,” the mother cautioned as the girl nearly stepped into a puddle in the middle of the path. Even my mother with her moderate formal education knew water which had collected on the ground after rain was not a river even though she didn’t know its name. What are we teaching our children? What is Ghana without Ghanaian languages? We speak our language and it doesn’t make us uncouth or savage.
#proudofmylanguage