see the crime, time has committed,
so many thoughts have been omitted,
can’t write, no money
I need literary honey

there’s this transparent wall,
causing mental brawl,
my apparent fall,
I can’t stand it at all

It’s keeping everything from me,
it’s laughing solemnly
my confidence is twitching,
this disease, bewitching

I’m waiting deeply on the pen,
for ideas as much as ten
but all it does is spit air,
like it doesn’t care

the paper lies there,
over here,
staring languidly at my face,
it seems I’ve lost my mental pace
in this race

the pen has lost its sagacity,
the ink, its fidelity,
now my career has to pay the penalty
for this cruel fellony.
                                       By Kakraba Afful