My heart spills blood stone,

I pray to the lord to please

the heavens tie me down

I cry because I have claws,

I’m weak than a clause

The stars were crying,

I was dying,

but thought was winning,

seeing many souls crying,

always try to keep flying

but I’m worse than a plane crash!

flesh to ash,

poor no cash

I turn to the light,

no audience

turn to the darkness,

I’m the conductor

to instruct the demons

on how to sing my pitchfork song

One baby, at crossroads,

the devil says checkmate!

he found a weakling,

indecisive,

mentally unstable;

can’t control what he says

in his mind, because they’re

too many voices

Now my caretakers

are storymakers,

“this guy is a nighmare!”

my friend

are undertakers,

“I’m glad he’s cursed.”

Well, you got what you wanted

“De-graft why do you hide,

too you life is an emotional

boxing ring, everyone takes a punch,

well, it’s TKO!

You are the world’s most accursed,

Your fellow Ghanaians and Americans

are the world champions,

your weaknesses are their belt.”

Dust,

self-rust,

a lack of self trust,

ash,

plane crash,

fire upon me the mire,

words like barbed wire

gloom

doom

curses

nightmares

Happy?

There’s your story.

                           By Ekow Kakraba