Talking Drums

The West African News Magazine

Poets' Corner


It's ugly
It's heavy
Making me weighty
Making me weightless
Slashing stones of flesh
Sucking away blood
Getting plans nibbed in the bud
Problems that's it
Making me sick
Breaking my neck and clinging to it
Breaking my limbs
Intangible destroyer
Will you leave me alone?
Invisible not invincible
Unwelcome visitor
I will catch you and destroy you
beyond repairs
Problems that's it.

Kwadjo Attakora Baah, London


In sequence
the sun rolls on its ballards
Over lands and seas;
And other domains unforeseen;
Transcending the imagination:
To each, in measures
Allures its radiance.
To some in fragments;
To others in perpetuity.

This phenomenon in time and motion;
The ethnicity and judgement of men
Have shaped in blind arrogance
The mirror for self reflection.
Where therefore the sun settles
Its deal with the Northern Hemisphere
And whisps a clasp on the South
In fairness snare;
The habitats now in their bests
Go beserk and naked
In sacrificial ethnicity.

Adorning, adorning and supplementing
The sun in eternal worship.
This they call 'civilisation'
Engraved in Beach-Combing
Hiking the mountains and honey-mooning.
This, they call civilisation.

Akeh-Ugah Ufumaka,
Bronx, New York

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