the toast

 

Lekker Afriku

 

 

TALES OF A NIGHT WORKER

This is how my story began

The symptom of my bitterness

The devourer of my firm spirit

The undue stain of my virtue right

That makes me cry myself to sleep.

 

It was a June morning

Moms kiss on my forehead was poor

Her skin looked dry in a wrapped perfumed cloth

Though “shea-butter” cream was an ally in our straw hut

She looked unbridled by the frowned wrinkles

And had worn her anniversary gown and a wig hat

To that unusual bright and sunny hour

She looked unperturbed by the fact that, the compound had not been swept

Nor the barrels filled with the first tears of the stream

It was such a strange dream

And an infant day to have weird thoughts

On that lazy mat of mine

 

We only heard Papa’s name was “Forster”

He had divorced Mama during our early teens

I was the eldest amongst five children

A lady with vibrating limbs and skinny piercing physique

purposed to stand as a man for my siblings

Papa’s shadow was the scarcity sight in our home

As we grew younger and older

dearer and poorer without a fatherly clove of love.

 

 

This is how my story began

The symptom of my bitterness

The devourer of my firm spirit

The undue stain of my virtue right

That makes me cry myself to sleep

 

In my awakening by the cockerel’s crow

After succumbing to that bitter dream

about my mother,

I walked to Mama’s door

And knocked to hear her deep responsive voice

But silence had eluded her.

 

“A funeral under a leaking roof”.

The symptom of my bitterness

The devourer of my firm spirit

The undue stain of my virtue right

That makes me cry myself to sleep

 

We cried and tore pieces of our clothes

And painted a mood of bitterness

to deaths’ venom bite

I then understood the prophetic passage

I encountered in that mid-night dosage of sleep

And I wept and we slept in miscarriage,

As I had been welcomed to the hill

Where many had died on

 

This is where my story began

The decisive point of strength or failure.

 

Copyright © 22-02-2017

Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah

aka Poet et Cetera

DO YOU KNOW HOW OBAMA WAS BORN

A man who calls his kinsmen to a feast does not do so to redeem them from starving.

They all have food in their own houses.

We also gather together in the moonlight village ground,

not because of the moon’s boon

but we come together because it is good for Kinsmen or people

to do so. (Chinua Achebe, in his book, ‘Things Fall Apart)

 

Therefore,

It is amazing how cultures differ

Religions transform

Marriages cut borders

And human societies flourish

 

When I hear a Chinese speak

that is soothing enough to be a song

When I see a Japanese dance in mid-morning gong

that is rich food to satisfy an empty soul

from the grips of depression.

 

When I sit on a dinner table with a Panamanian

that is brewed taste of reggae love

and an echoing worship,

mildly singing “Love each other”

 

When I chance into Russians and Germans

there’s fine Vodka and Beer  away

summoning my instinct to keep coming back home for more

 

When I am home with an Italian couple

that is pure art of a rising sun

and an emotional spot for unmarried poems

who are yet  to taste the stanzas and rhymes of beauty

 

When fine art of lazing smoke

entraps my inquisitive nostrils

that’s a Cuban Cigar of magical wonder

attracting as the wealthy queen of Arabia

in dancing yonder

 

When you spot Elephants on the Chobe River

and the Makgadigadi pans experience rains

that’s a Batswana painting and sight as a Mona Lisa

 

When a Zambian is served an Nshima with an Ndiwo

that’s an expression of tales of hospitality and folklore

brewed from an African pot

 

 

When I stare in awe to the Samba by a Brazilian

that’s times way of healing in the most unbearable of pain

 

When you greet a Ni-Van and she responds unusually gently,

ask her about the meal she prepared for dinner

and if it is rice, then, there is famine in her home.

 

Wear the traditional canon of an Ethiopian shawl

and that’s a taste of elegance before the altar of prayer.

 

When I see a Kenyan on board a Delta Airlines flight

In snooze mode to America

that is another Obama in the making

 

When you fall in love with a Ghanaian

that’s immortality in the face of death

and a cure of depressed hunger

 

Therefore,

We came together for a grand feast

which exposed us to different traits and characters

So,

Let’s recognize ourselves as a people

dealing with people

even in the scarcest of cultures and religion

as we might not know where another Obama could be born.

 

      Love Each Other.

                                           Keep on loving each other

                                                                                  As I could be the next Obama

                                                                                        ‘coz I felt in love with a foreigner of another land.

 

Copyright © 25-06-2017

Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah 

aka Poet et Cetera

Written in Beijing-China during a 3 week seminar on Climate Change where I fell in love with the amazing people from different cultures and backgrounds.  Credit to Igwee of Kenya and all participants to the conference. It was nice seeing you all.

WONDERFUL

Shadows fill our day

fulfilling a lifelong of breath creeping our way

The sun prompts us of things undone

agonizing our knowledge of truths untold

The whistles of the trees arouse a feeling

bringing to men a great deal of healing

And those paired birds that fly,

clear doubts of questions unanswered in our homes

A life revealing dream marred by magnificent artfulness

of all things possible and of a hope unlimited

for all nature is good and soul refreshing

Every crow of the fowl ushers us into a new day

Those winds soothe our day and warm bodies

And the songs from the birds’ incite us into joy

That sweet name like magic has made me

Those fragrances of melodies had aroused me

And the melodies of love had filled my belly

Every night dawns into morning

All of grace, for it’s from Him who made them

 

Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah

aka Poet et Cetera

WHEN THE SUN RISE

 

to Omilos Eksipiriteton, Servers’ Society, Greece

You will find joy
In the mid morning glory
When the path of light
Un-blind its eyes
Of the darkened gory

You will find rhythm
In the holy sieve
When the weary heart
Finds the anthem of peace
Beyond the oceans of stars

You will find cleansing
In the purest sea
When the dreadful stink
Charm thy godly body
Of past,
To healing of dance,
in the whispers now

You will find love
In the comfort bosom
When the silent air
Bore delight
In the groovy night
And magical spice
Of rainbow colors

You will find hope
Someday;
Somehow,
You will find rest
In the brightest sun.

Copyright © 14-02-2018
Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah
aka Poet et Cetera

CHANGE

 

Tomorrow,

You will see my world

and fumble.

You will witness the luxury

of swollen heads,

full of overt pride,

and openly confessing,

“I made a change today”.

 

Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah

aka Poet et Cetera

UNSUNG, MY BROTHERS

(A tale of mixed feeling(s) and lessons learnt)

I. Colonization and Oral Traditions

Tomorrow when I come
I will tell you of the beautiful ones
that are not yet born
I will tell of the seven moons
that ‘booned’ in our past glory
where men observed the imagery of their dreams
and whose beliefs were in the ancestral traditions
of the spirits.

Tomorrow when I come
things will not fall apart
to liven the stranger’s cheeks
to an uncontrollable laughter
of condemnation and un-sacrificial imperialism.

Unsung, my brothers
In the midst of love
the strong is weak.

II. Independence
Tomorrow when I come
I will tell of Independence
I will tell of Vana Nkrumah, Vana Modibo Keita
Vana Abdel Nasser, Vana Tatamadiba Mandela, Vana Nyerere,
and Vana’s who stamped “No” on bondage and enslavement.
Tomorrow when I come
there will be enough sunrise
to offer the lizard
energy
to briskly climb the walls
and nod his head after a fall

Unsung, my brothers
In the midst of love
the strong is weak.

III. Corruption and Political Abuse
Tomorrow when I come
Chiefs and Kings would be strangers of their own land
they will bear no respect and honor
For I will tell them of how they stood naked
In the thick smoke of their burning alters

Tomorrow when I come
their crowns would be a dross in my sight
they will be beggars in the midst of their loots
Tomorrow when I come
they will understand why their lust
took their impotency from them
and how their lives were fragile
like an egg
ready to crush at the least slip

IV. Judgment and the New Religion
Tomorrow should I come
I will come like a thief
I will come at a time
when fireflies have dimmed their lamps
when the night is as dark as charcoal
and silent to the echoes of oblivion
so I can tell of the unsung stories to my brothers
so I can judge them
at the time their tongues were dip in honey
so I can measure the now of how their unity are weak
and cannot even defeat the swamp of humming bees

Tomorrow when I am here
You will understand
I was a man of words
a sire with an ancestral tongue
You will know how diabolic was alcoholic to the fate of a today’s man
Unsung, my brothers
In the midst of love
the strong is weak.

V. Conclusion, (Sharing, Giving, Forgiveness and Resistance to Oppression)
Tomorrow when I come
I will exchange my Onions for your Spinach
My water for your thirst
My bread for your butter
My guilt for your forgiveness
So we can live in trade by barter
To feed our souls, body and mind
of depressed hunger.

By: Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah

aka Poet et Cetera

TO MY VALENTINE

A moment as beautiful as a young Rose

or a yawning sunflower

that cannot quiet its petals from drawing butterflies

awoke a funny sunlight to the delight of our eyes

 

a time after time of chiming winds

with tickling sensation of love

was like a brewed kiss from an honest answer

 

a startled picturesque

as sight of morning Zebras

birthed a paradise of praise like an exciting salmagundi

in a magical recipe of thoughtfulness

 

a distant stare of an ageing couple

as smell of fresh milk and chocolates

dumped my thundering peals into a dawn of newness

 

a February of cupids it was

a memory along a smiley rivulets we sat

a sight of clopping horses and disciples of stars

is my wish for you and I, against the world.

 

 

Copyright © 14-02-2018

Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah

aka Poet et Cetera

World Poetry Cafe-El Mundo Poesie Interview of Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah

World Poetry Cafe-El Mundo Poesie Interview of Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah