Monday, 26 September 2011

MAFIA


MAFIA

Most Ghanaian tertiary students are very familiar with this term, especially when lecturers burden them with overbearing amounts of assignments and group projects to be completed within a very short period of time. More often than not, out of sheer laziness these degree-seeking vampires neglect the fulfilment of their scholastic obligation. And when these works are left to the very last minute, the cycle of laying blame at their doorposts is set into repetitive motion: which usually champions the widespread illusion that miniature gods sitting in offices and pretending to teach, only sought to fail them at the end of the semester.

Or maybe, whilst trying your very best to enjoy the many commercials that annoyingly interrupt the telenovela gripping your sensual side, the lights give out. We somehow (and absurdly) manage to think the company tasked with ensuring that electricity supply is maintained, deliberately deprives the general public of this so crucial utility, or to assume a more paradoxical stance, some trained toddler constantly toys with the switch, which supplies the grid covering our most immediate environs. How cynical can people get!

Mafia actually refers to the name of a slack but solid association of criminals; this group occasionally bound together by blood oaths. Originating from the southern island of Sicily separated from mainland Italy by the Strait of Messina, this enormous but isolated land mass housed the development of this cult in feudal periods in an effort to protect the estates of property-owners indisposed at the time. They never had a fulcrum controlling affairs or even a hierarchical order of any sort: just a bunch of crooks limited in terms of power within a particular district.

This post is specially dedicated to all the dudes around the world who buy that condom just before prom night and finally blame their promiscuous girlfriends for sharing some virus, or the well-armed rogue roaming the streets, searching for the lady who forgot to pick her pepper spray, willing to do him a favour under duress. Whichever personality we are referring to, he has only that one thing in mind: causing damage unlimited till satisfaction is attained, but sadly forgetting about the consequence.

And to the students wasting away precious time, your end might be awfully sublime...

Monday, 12 September 2011

DIRTY MONEY


More often than not, the working population without vehicles of their very own take the early bus to work with large notes looking to escape from hot pockets: but the beautiful exchange that ensues, speaks of the dirty dilemma our innocent hands have to endure. 

The fresh and unadulterated smell of a cedi is quickly relinquished for a folded note impregnated with filth, thumbprints, and possibly semen. You think that is outrageous? Puh-lease! The very elaborate Kamasutra sex positions are not even as remotely extreme as the state of the once unblemished powerful slice of paper after going through the palms and pockets of different locations and adorned after varying vocations.

Lets not forget the market-woman who hides the fruit of her labor, accrued from selling her merchandise in the hot sun between her falling cleavages. That scorching heavenly body forcing the salty sweat from within her epidermis, which interestingly enough, culminates into the stench stronger than a sumo-wrestler. You might wonder what drew my attention to this seldom spoken of but very popular eye-sore: allow me to illustrate the scenario then. This bus driver's mate hurriedly took the fare from each passenger till he asked me, "Yesssssssssssssss, your money!" I fumbled to pick coins from my back pocket, only to realize I had none. The notes in my frontal sac decided to take initiative, leading to the exchange of tidy for dirty.

You might fall ill not because of the dangerous mosquito: it might just be that dirty money...


Written by : Kojo Essuman Ackah

(C) Copyright ~ 2011 All Rights Reserved



@Poetikojo<-----------Follow me on twitter

Wednesday, 7 September 2011

BYGONE LOVE


Its just been over a year since we recounted the brief but beautiful past we both shared. Those times where the world didn't matter, when we became the impregnable unit that has sadly crumbled to non-existence. It would be a great farce to inform the general public and the entire world of me dreaming about you everyday: having your image engraved on the nucleus of my brain cells surely seems enough to keep me haunted forever, which remains my most treasured relic. Constantly chased out of sorts by this nightmare of a memory, I ridiculously wish it would become reality.

Although our intimacy was devoid of salivary exchange, your absence has incurred an omnibus of solitude. Bringing with it, chilly morning breezes,  it sends me a reminder of how warm your cuddles kept me on a daily basis. I certainly don't allude all this to that misinformed meteorologist on the television, or even nature's great antiphon in climate change, but each gust approaching sub-zero temperatures, has felt the fist of my tongue.

In relation to an inter-ballistic missile, missing you would be life-saving, a believable sham of a lovely life worth rescuing, identical to that deep mirage formed in the figment of my  imagination. I identify it as such for the simple reason of not having you around. Just as contagious as a flu might be, I'll keep catching you no matter how sore your falling would be. Now I'm drunk with nostalgia of our sweet past, probably because those epics glide wide apart from this painful present handed to me. Wish you had stayed, when our love frayed: hope time had waited, whilst your patience wavered.

Just a day before, it was born: now its all gone...


Written by : Kojo Essuman Ackah

(C) Copyright ~ 2011 All Rights Reserved


@Poetikojo<-----------Follow me on twitter