The pain in rejection by J.Y. FRIMPONG and OSOMFO KWASI DANSO

You ignore me like I am half alive
You treat him with kindness for he just came
From a journey so far away
And I become the one whose value
Is just as the rubbish you throw away
You look at me and all
What you see is a lump of waste
But just remember that with time and distance
You will grow cold and miss me.
When I am away, you would wish that
I was here but I will be away out of your reach

 

 

 

The tributary of the eye wails with pain
But still remains a thin line of tear
Soaked in the existence of affection of the sight
Your care sits at the outskirts of your soul

I do not find solace at the banks of your heart anymore
'Cos its sand is mixed with writh,
The sign of the shadow wakes the long sleep of distance-and the still wind in this atmosphere plays a dissonance of musical silence

Why,
Do u take my breath out of me?
Is it my continuous presence at your sight?
My heart leaps a beat,
But I speak,
This tributary u disrespect,
Is a royal of a bigger rivulet...

 

 

Can you please not make me sad
For I am just like the other person
I am of flesh, I am of blood
I still have breath in me.
Life still runs through my soul
Treat me like how you are treating
This new person.
For I am always here with you
I can always be there for you
For one day you will miss me
One day, you will wish for my touch,
My warmth.

 My flute of harmony looks more like the noise of the vulture
Left on the land of the filth
The ancient call in your voice is off the hook
And catches no fish in my emotions again

I ply your land even in your dry season-
The waters of my soul flourishes the beauties of the flowers in you
What wrong warrants such treatments?

 

 

My heart weeps

But I won't weep
I will soldier on
Because a day will come
I shall be no more
And you will weep.
That day, you will put me on your shoulder
And take me to the graves
And there will be millions of miles between our hearts
And between the physical realms we live.
So hence, although I am here for you
I will not always be there for you.
Don't weep for me,
All that I want you to do
Is to dine with me on the table of brotherhood
Like what you are doing with the other person
For I am flesh, I am of blood
I am of the soul, but a time will come
I shall be none of what I just said

 

 

 The delectare of comfort lies only in the thoughts and tongues of man
It soothes the soul and elevates the spirit
I need me your consent
As a present to grace my troubled mindset
Time is but a flying piece
My presence won't be felt now but when I pay a visit on the land of the silent majority
But before I do-
I speak with a conscience as I let drip the affection, emotion and care in me
I only endeavor you to make good use of it and drink from its drops
My hope will still survive,
As I await your distant call with patience.

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VICE

She used to call me baby

Painted in blood stains from my heart

She has a heart filled with Vernon

But she remains the lady I want to die in her arms

My friends told me that she will kill me

But when she hurts me,

It reminds me of the sweet memories I had with her.

My friends told me that she is a danger to hold on to

But when I have her in my arms, she hurts me and I love it.

Her love is as sweet as poison

It is deviance that blesses my soul with peace

Her love is as beautiful as our dirty wedding dress

Pure, holy, immaculate and pleasant to the eyes.

I can see my world ebbing away

But she’s the hope of light I can hold on to.

My soul is leaving me to the next realm

But bite me with all your strawberry scented poison.

She used to put me on an exquisite bed of broken bottles

Like I was a broken chair which only belonged to the rubbish dump.

When she treats me so, I could have died right there

For she was drinking all the blood in my veins

She raised me high, she dissects my chest looking for my heart

She looks at me and tells me that

She killing is not even enough.

Her love is as pure as an infatuation

It is what kills me and makes me alive

Her love is as strong as an oil’s love for water

Compatible, inseparable and truth that shames all evil

It makes me deaf but every night I hear sirens and music

Played from the discordant chords played by my dear love.

We can always go back to Heaven

Where our names is not in the book of life

Loving you was as difficult as lifting my body from her bed of broken glasses

We can always go back to Communist China

Where they know we are capitalist spies

My pleasure lies in your maltreatment of my soul

Let’s go and bless this union

I always cry like my tears are your favorite delicacy

Which makes you satisfied.

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Short Story: DEAR DIARY

DEAR DIARY,

                         A war is coming, I don’t know how to tell you but deep within me, I feel that a war is coming. Today, 10^th February, I was on my way to the “koko seller” to buy breakfast and the events that I witnessed on the way confirmed the dreams I have been having for the past two weeks! A war is coming, I don’t know how fast it will come, I don’t know who will bring it but I know it is coming.

                          It seems that people are oblivious as to what war can do to this country. You remember that fair girl I have been crushing on lately. Yes, Animwaa! She sat beside the “Space-to-space” operator telling her about how happy she would be if there’s a war in Ghana. Seriously, what kind of thought is that?

                           You also remember that mad man sleeping on the street? Not Dirty Akwasi! I mean Brefo, he seemed to be preaching about violence. You also remember that “cocoa krachie”, the one who said that I was conceited and that my going to the university doesn’t indicate in any way that I was more brofosem than him? Yes that one! I saw him sitting at the market square today and he looked at me with an evil concealing look; if I was not in paranoia, I thought I heard him say that I would be the first person to die when the war finally comes.

                             You also remember Little Akwasi? Apparently, he had been sacked from school and his mother was lambasting the President for the bad state of the economy. She obviously supports a revolution. Oh Diary, how do I preach to these people that a war is going to worsen the economic hardship of this country?

                               You also remember Auntie Abrafi? I just heard that her husband is dead. I heard her family couldn’t gather money for his operation and now he’s dead. I passed by her house after buying my breakfast and I saw her beating her chest and wishing for a revolution.

                                Dear diary, a revolution is coming, I don’t know when or how but it is coming. Diary, I am very much disturbed! You know that I can’t pour my heart out to people, you know that all I can do is to write so if the war finally comes and I’m gone – I just want someone to find this diary so that he can read everything in it. Dear diary, I just wish I would live long to communicate with you.

 

                                                                                                                             AKWASI SARPONG,

                                                                                                                                          10^TH - FEB – 2008

                                                                                                                                            SIGNED

 

 

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CRUEL GAME

 

To play with life
Like we are playing
A very cruel game
Called
Russian roulette
Where the value of life
Is subjected to even the
Worse form of probability
And chance.

The darkness and blackness
Of the gun
Stares at us
With our hearts beating
And our eyes begging
The hands to reason up
With our mind seeming to have failed us

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THE OTHER WOMAN by J.Y. Frimpong & Kodwo Hybrid

I’m yearning for the enchantress; the other woman

The one with bright pink lipstick and

Black manicured nails

The woman currently in tears!

The other woman with a fringe hairstyle like that of Cleopatra

Like on powerful opium, that is the one I’m craving for

The one who sits lonely by her window

Hoping to hear my baritone voice drenched in reverb.

The one who is always waiting for me

To warm her up like a baby sleeping in a basket afloat the cold seas.

Have been staring in this hourglass for an hour

Waiting for he who owns tunic of different colours

The one that walks gently on the corridors of my heart

The one that has touched the night in my thighs

His voice is like croon of the early morning black wheatear

His presence is felt bare on my lips

Whenever he pass by my window sill

I wait for him to raise his hands up

Lift his voice high just to dizzy me for a second

I hope he listen and hears my silence whenever I fail to wave back

My heartbeat increases when I see the other woman

She always stay fresh waiting for me to knock on her door

Waiting for me to say the very words she wants to hear

To move her thighs at night and excite her beyond an unholy pleasure

Raise her hair up and kiss her till her pink lipstick is all gone

The other woman wears a French perfume

With a high hopes that like a dog I can smell her from afar.

I’m holding a rose; I hope she sees that it was meant for her

Will it ever be that the other woman, like me,

Will grow old and never have true love to keep warm?

He brought white roses, delicately beautiful

From the symmetry in his smile, I knew who it was for

My heart sunk into the abyss of my soul when

I saw a chariot of white roses doused in perfume in front of my door

This man that has claimed me with his unspoken words and gestures

He beckons every passion in me, a deja vu I know perfectly well

But no, I am not falling into this trap again

You see, love is a war that drowns you in a dungeon of misery when it taste sour and the table turns

No! I don't want to be a tragedy, I will watch and inhale these flowers every morning

And as it wilt so is my heart dwindling.

I stand at her door with my hand ready to knock

Ready to capture her with my attention

Ready to place her above the apex of my love pyramid

Watch, kiss and love her till the world is no more

But what if, I knock and she does not answer?

What If I call for her and she walks out of my sight?

What if I offer her my love and all what she sees is mere rugs

What if she sees in me a mere acquaintance

I stood there subjecting my thoughts to probability and chance

After all what do I stand to lose? Uncertain, my hands touched the door

Today as I watched his blossoming gift in the chariot

I saw a blue white dove singing a melodious ode.

Every time I see this, it reminds me of my beautiful stranger and how am tenderly beginning to love, love again

I don't want to fall in love silhouette and unable to stand again

But slowly I’m tripping

I'm falling in the moisture of his affection

Willing to bury him deep in my Bermuda triangle.

I'm filled with illusion of his all and the smile hidden in his eyes

Oh the sight of him a glory to behold

The sound of a knock brings me back to reality,

He's calling me in his baritone

Oh he's coming for me, or is it one of my illusions again

His baritone liped my name once again.

FREE DOWNLOAD" The Other Woman by J.Y.Frimpong & Kodwo Hybrid http://jyfstore.blogspot.com/2014/08/pdf-download-other-woman-by-jy-frimpong.html

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