Our Mothers!!

We are braver than our mothers
We took their unfulfilled dreams
and held them to our chest
Dreams bestowed on us
to achieve while we achieve ours
It was then we vowed to be better
To rise above all limitations ever
placed on them and to give them
The gift of being their improved
versions.

Starved Love

You have water in abundance

but you starved the grass

in your yard

Now I watch you looking

longly at your neighbor’s yard

You gaze at their green grass

You want what they have

without the hard work

Yes! the grass is greener at their side

but you and I know it took hard work

you stifled our love but you wondering

why it didn’t blossom like our neighbor’s

All they did was water and cater to

what we took for granted 

The whistles of a woman

The silence in her loud heart
Signals the strength she has
For when she has no option
But to forge ahead for all
Who have put her on that pedestal
The unsaid longings in her chest
Is the pain that seek to rapture
Her very essence and being
The bells of expectations
Are too loud for her gentle soul
And she is still drawn to the belief
That each bell deserves her attention

Words!!!!

When we started I didn’t intend to commit
She was just a place of comfort for me
As soon as the soul found joy I had no need
for her and at first she was ok with that
But I kept coming back and she captured my soul
My relationship with words was supposed to be
Short-lived but how do you let go of a relationship
That keeps you sane and expresses your state of mind
More than your mouth will ever do
I am in love with words and I have made the decision
TO STAY

The interview

I sat across the room
Staring nervously
A deep voice echoed
“Tell us about yourself”
It was that simple but
It hit me like a ton of bricks
“Who am I?”
Did I need a panel to ask me this?
I have asked myself this question
Yes more than once
And to say that I knew
The answer is a big deception
So I replied honestly
I hope I get the answer
At the ends of life’s journey
When there is no breath left
And all seem to agree on
Who I was

To the teacher who made me hate mathematics

Dear Sir,

I was just a child who wanted to learn and who enjoyed school because my curious mind was being fed. I wake up early with the excitement of going to school to learn and play with my peers, until there is a quick and painful awakening of what awaits me early in the morning during your lessons.
I was not very fascinated by numbers but I wanted to find out what I could accomplish with them nonetheless but the sound of your cane descending on our backs early in the morning put fear in the center of my brain and I could not think of any other thing apart from the pain that was synonymous with your subject. I remember all the meanness as if it was yesterday and I don’t know if you just derived pleasure from inflicting
pain or it was just a teaching method gone badly.
As I write this I am struggling to remember your name that is how much I fear you sir, so much so that I dread to even remember your name. Every morning in school was torture for me as there was what is known as early morning “mental” (any Ghanaian student knows the caning that goes with that word). It was supposed to be a morning brain teaser before the main lessons but it soon turn into a caning bazaar.
The pain you inflicted was supposed to make force us to take the learning of mathematics more seriously but it ended up filling my whole being with dread and hatred for all things numbers and for years I struggle to deal with numbers. The choices of courses later in life were determined by the absence of numbers because I did not feel worthy of numbers.
My friend and I who constantly got canned every morning came up with ways to cheat (something I was not proud of) so we would not have a sour back to take home. As you would instruct us to exchange our exercise books with the person next to us and mark each other’s work, the two of us would quickly exchange our blank exercise books and write out the correct answers for each other as you wrote them out on the board. This was our only chance of escaping the consistent forced relationship we had with your cane.
I am not totally blaming you for my natural weakness with numbers but you did little to encourage me to find some fascination with numbers.
Today, I have come to terms with the fact that I am just not good with the formulas and rules that go with numbers and I will rather read books and analysis characters or write poetry, but I do wonder what my relationship with numbers would have been had you not forcefully broken us up.