tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53954263872873311932024-02-08T09:55:05.108-08:00Crave for DaveDavid Kwakyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04983215627005521942noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5395426387287331193.post-87115201518347336092010-07-13T06:10:00.002-07:002010-07-13T06:11:22.033-07:00PrayerForgive me father, for I am consumed by sin<br />I am sorry I nearly jumped into bed with those cute triplets when we were drunk off a bottle of gin<br />I had licked my lips at the outcome; laying back after coitus bliss with a couple of rubbers in a bin<br />But father, looking back, I know it was nothing but temptation, temptation, temptation; nothing but sin<br />Forgive me for lying to the svelte girl by name of NA<br />The reader is probably thinking I’ve spelt Naa wrongly, but no, I stress on NA<br />It’s true I didn’t cheat on her; that, in my head, I pushed it to the rear<br />But you know I never had the Learjet, or that yellow Ferrari and the ten bedroom mansion I brazenly drummed into her ear<br />Oh father, it was a lie birth out of love; one that generated from fear of loosing someone dear<br />I apologize for letting my lies smear her pretty face with tears<br />I am so sorry my stubborn nature causes my mother so much pain<br />I pray by Your power, You’ll wipe away the slightest trace of rain<br />I’m sorry for the advice I gave Kwasi, when Akosua wanted something serious, and he just wanted to play<br />I’m sorry for giving him that lame advice; that to get free off her, he should tell her he’s turned gay<br />I’m sorry for blocking my ears to the call of that old man I love dearly<br />Although he’s troublesome with his advice, I know his words are spoken sincerely<br />I’m sorry for not remembering all the other sins I’ve committed, currently<br />I pray they will be forgiven, so I’ll look away from them fervently<br />Now, Father, since by faith I know my sins are forgiven<br />I’ll like to say a prayer for the one reading this note and my other brethren<br />Because I don’t want to go to heaven alone<br />I’d very much like for all of us to sing with the angels near your throne<br />Now, you! Yes you! Why did you tell that cute boy you are single?<br />When only four gates down the lane, the one who makes your heart levitates made you giggle<br />And my male brethren, don’t laugh and say mmmhhhmmm<br />Why do you keep checking on other women’s butts, even when you’re walking with your boo under the moon<br />Especially when she has a nice, big one too<br />Father, forgive the brothers and sisters who drink and sleep gossip, but read the Bible<br />The same folk who go to church every Sunday and claim they are Christians like it’s a title<br />Father, forgive the husbands who’ve committed adultery with over hundred different women<br />Those who want to surpass David; those whose cells the roots of lust are intricately woven<br />Father, forgive that man with big, frog-like eyes who flashed that charming smile at me in front of the brown gate and made me believe in him<br />To the extent that I told him everything, not knowing his specialty was killing dreams<br />But I’m grateful I have you Father, thank You for setting me free off him<br />And that big-mouthed woman too; the one who told on me<br />When I confided in her and let her in on my secrets without a toll or fee<br />Oh, Father, please forgive that fat woman who has the ability to be a Samaritan; to help me cross the flooded gutter<br />But she shakes her head repeatedly, and says, “no, no, no… Homie, you don’t matter.”<br />Father, I know the list is getting long<br />But I know that young, beautiful woman who has shown several married men her worn out thong<br />Eeehhh, his wife can’t spend all his money alone seems to be her song<br />Oh God, and then there are the boys who pursue girls solely for their luscious booty<br />And girls who stalk sugar Daddy’s and spread at the snap of a finger for money<br />Throwing to the wind their precious dignity<br />Oh, I nearly forgot the Kojo Besia’s, strutting the streets searching for a different hole, Oh my God, my heart breaks at the iniquity<br />I understand it’s a stinking world, but Father, we are Your children, so please forgive with ease<br />Please forgive the hypocrites (especially the foreign commentators) who doubted the Black Stars<br />But now, they’ve joined the band wagon, singing they will go far<br />And Father, although for the sake of creativity<br />Most of the above writings are exaggerated greatly<br />Some, even to the level of absurdity<br />Father, I bow my head and cross my self, praying You’ll wash away all our tiniest iniquities<br />And make us born again in total tranquility.<br />AMEN!<br /><br />Copyright © David Kwakye 2010David Kwakyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04983215627005521942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5395426387287331193.post-15643097354949715792010-07-13T06:10:00.001-07:002010-07-13T06:10:33.442-07:00Echoes from the GhettoWidening ripples form beneath your feet<br />Thick laces of warm tears crawl down your cheeks<br />Gently stroking your face, painting pictures, and leaving traces of a heart that bleeds within<br />The gloom of the slowly dominating twilight matches your mood, as the sun hastens to flee<br />The wooden bridge you sit on feels your pain, and in solidarity, it creeks<br />As the wind moans sadly on the banks, disturbing the leaves<br />Hairs within your nose caress each other, bracing themselves for the mucus to tickle as it leaks<br />Your facial features contort repeatedly, giving you the look of a jester electrocuted by mean electric cells<br />Your cranium is in turmoil as your brain cells shift into overdrive, trying to remember when the guillotine fell<br />Intuition failed to alert, you would have summoned the faintest breath in your lungs, and let out an ear-piercing yell<br />To warn me what we shared was being severed at its neck<br />Like a crab’s shell, at a price perilous to you, you were prepared to protect me from impending wreck<br />But in hindsight, you now realize I was being just a crab: strolling clumsily without its head<br />Indifferent and thinking of everything except you, and how to make it safely to the comforting deck<br />Now, like an epiphany, it dawns on you, and you remember vividly<br />A couple of flips of the calendar in reverse, looking back<br />When I was at the summit of the mountain at a game park<br />Infested with lionesses and their starving cubs<br />And you needed my help in the form of a pull<br />I had only dusted my feet, and watched you hang on to the rope with weak, thin wool<br />Oh yes, and there was the time when depression tossed you her ugly dress<br />And you only needed to talk to me, but I covered my ears and shut my eyes to your tears<br />You looked up to me like a close friend does, I was your role model times three<br />But brazenly, with a steel-molded heart, I looked down on you as if you were nothing but a troubling flea<br />Now you are certain all along, to me, what we shared had been nothing but building waves, rolling forth with haste, only to break feebly at the shore<br />When the world fetched ear plugs and turned silent, when everyone was too busy for you and you needed me to tell you an uplifting lore<br />I chuckled at your plight, and said you were a waste of time; a total bore<br />When your intestines burned with tear-inducing hunger<br /><span> I belched after eating fufu-ne-abe-nkwan+a-grand-</span><div><wbr><span class="word_break"></span>papa-of-a-grass-cutter<br />And to the dogs and cats, I fed the left over<br />I yawned, tossed in my bed and readied my self for a nice slumber<br />Then came the turning point: you slept too, after tossing and turning in bed with a rumbling stomach, and had a nightmare of me with a knife at your ribs<br />Sleep forced a window for you to escape from having your lungs punctured, and you woke up at this weak, water-soaked bridge<br />The boat that is patiently waiting to take you to the other town gives you a wink<br />It moves in the direction of subtle currents, promising you it won’t sink<br />You don’t want to hop into it; it stings your heart to do this<br />But you know you need to take this trip<br />You’ll cross the river now, and put some distance between you, and my head-splitting politics<br />You wanted a friend, but all I offered was another indifferent individual with a bag full of empty promises<br /><br />Copyright © David Kwakye 2010</div>David Kwakyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04983215627005521942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5395426387287331193.post-52396165805219175002010-07-13T06:07:00.000-07:002010-07-13T06:08:44.280-07:00Sugar DaddyOtoolodu's pot belly with numerous folds, struggles to stay comfortable beneath the steering wheel<br />His loins are siezed with unquenchable lust, his brain, ever so active, imagining how loud she'll squeal<br />Brutish fantacies, yes, but one he looks forward to with zeal<br />The silence of the behemot star littered sky is disturbed by the eerie hoot of an owl on a quest for a meal<br />Akosua is pregnant at home, taking care of their two year old, bored and yearning for what was once real<br />A time when they complimented each other like tires and wheels<br />When the mere mention of her name caused his body to react as if it was being attacked by a shoal of electric eels<br />In his mind, the past is folded like a peice of worthless carpet, and masterfully, he conceals<br />The true fact of what molded him into the colossus he is today<br />Conscience should prick, but it's inactive, battered and shattered, incapable of replay<br />The tides turn, an exchange of opposite fortunes - a life of strife, for a life of grace<br />A farce, tasteless mockery of the good hearted, because now, all he does is spit in her face<br />There's no such thing as love what so ever, it's gone, left without a trace<br />Psychological warfare, Akosua disadvantaged and weakened, because her heart brims with love<br />Coupled with mother's advice; everything below, only him above<br />Parrallel bank accounts going in divergent directions; hers, once always in credit<br />Now, she starves, perpetually stuck in the zone of debit<br />Otoolodu pulls over at Maame Yaa's house and douses his Audi's light<br />His brows furrow, and his pulse races at the sight<br />Of entangled silohettes moving eroctically in the dark, and he readies himself for a fight<br />Not only money is invested, but a huge chunk of his heart, because the sensations Maame yaa sends through his veins makes him feel like a soaring kite<br />His limbs are taken over, totally consumed by tremulous vibes<br />He walks closer, past the lawn mower, fears are confirmed, with moans of those currently of the estatic tribes<br />Sillohettes transform to known figures, as his eyes gets acclimatized to the dark<br />Only last week, half his savings was blown on a diamond chain, so he could see her delicate neck lit up in the car park<br />Chaotic thoughts run through his head, they didn't even have the decency to do it in bed<br />He stops suddenly, as stroke inducing surprise is thrown into the spinning cauldron<br />The tightened and frequently contorting face behind Maame Yaa isn't vaguely familiar, it's well known, and his heart breaks into a marathon<br />He walks closer and clears his throat but he's unheard, as erotic pleasures blocks the ear<br />He grits his teeth, it's his brother, Kofi, in his favorite position, busy humping from the rear<br />A desperate cry, one of the breed of anguish and excruciating pain, escapes from him, as he throws his hands up in despair<br />Nonchalantly, and completely in annoyance, four ecstacy filled eye balls turn to his direction<br />Maame Yaa tries to pull free, but Kofi holds on tight, he still has an erection<br />Otoolodu asks why, Kofi ignores him and continues to work brazenly, complete with vim<br />Maame yaa smiles and drops the lethal bombshell; "I have AIDS, why do you think I've become so slim?"<br />Kofi's body stiffens, but not in culmination of his sexual exertions<br />He's unprotected, and this isn't the first time, his heart's veins snap, forever robbing him of a time for reflections<br />Otoolodu's head becomes dizzy, he's been frequently falling ill lately<br />But he'd kept telling him self it's nothing, just take it easy<br />He bury's his face and weeps, as he thinks of his actions that boarders on silly<br />He feels naked and alone, conscience springs to life, with heart burning thoughts of Akosua, furiously spinning in his mind<br />Slowly, tears cloud his pupils, making his vision blurry<br />He looks in the the moon illuminated sky and whispers, "God, please spare my lovely lady and my innocent baby."<br />A grim tale that patiently awaits a cheating husband and a sugar daddy.<br /><br />Copyright © David Kwakye 2010David Kwakyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04983215627005521942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5395426387287331193.post-38328717070165029072010-07-03T11:03:00.000-07:002010-07-03T11:05:11.182-07:00UntitledSweeping debris left behind by the whirlwind<br />I see memorabilia that blares in the heart's ear like a fierce ring<br />My eyes well with tears<br />I'm at the cross roads of my fears<br />In a brief instant, time is meaningless, rolling back the years<br />With a heavy heart, I need to shift through the gloomy gears<br />Because all I have of the past is mere debris<br />Empty secretes, and the vile remnants the bleeding heart secretes<br />A new era dawns<br />Cant tell kings from pawns<br />Yes, a complex game of chess<br />But one I have to embrace with zest<br />The orient of the east just blessed earth with it's rays<br />I smile, looking forward to better days<br />The whirlwind is lost in the pit-less abyss of time's mist<br />The debris isn't forgotten<br />Just less significant, locked away in a frozen fist<br />A safe place that keeps it from being rotten.<br /><br />Copyright © David Kwakye 2010David Kwakyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04983215627005521942noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5395426387287331193.post-16615671313041088202010-07-03T10:58:00.000-07:002010-07-03T11:02:10.370-07:00African War DrumsDeserted streets, lined with broken bill boards<br />The trees shriek, and shed leaves, anticipating an acidic rainfall<br />The asphalt leaks, and reeks of blood from skulls and broken jaws<br />Faint, but dreadful chants cut through the skin tingling air<br />Building up slowly, a potent brew of dejection and despair<br />Witnessing an uncle shot, a father rot, psychological damage that last unrepaired<br />Strong hearted, but overwhelmed, because she's unprepared<br />For the odyssey that even grown men feared<br />The last survivor, alone, scared and shivering, wondering if they ever cared<br />About anyone besides themselves, and their exotic fares<br />A tear meanders down her cheeks, her soul weeps, clearly of the knowledge it isn't fair<br />Certain the instigator is in shoes that gleam, stepping into pompous air<br />Unscratched, priming up a blood sucking bunch of heartless hiers<br />It cuts accross, a universal phenomenon of sharp edged swords that taints the world<br />Her hunger defined cheeks become moist and glisten<br />Tears rush down her face in pools as she relates to Ann Frank, because only she can listen<br />The air thinkens with chants that grow louder... louder...<br />She grits her teeth, sinking her molars deeper into her gums, as if the grind will bring forth a miraculous powder<br />Thats about as likely as her ever tasting an elixir, but she's said her prayers<br />She sees cadavers lying on top of each other in layers<br />And what ever happens, she hopes it's quick and painless<br />So she can wear a different suit hemmed by angelic tailors<br />And finally leave this choking place that will forever be in the palm of barbaric sailors.<br /><br />Copyright © David Kwakye 2010David Kwakyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04983215627005521942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5395426387287331193.post-68989316208493403692010-07-03T06:09:00.000-07:002010-07-03T06:12:56.586-07:00Hands on the clockDistant memories, packaged in tornadoes stings the heart<br />Reminiscing about the bliss, before the teary tear apart<br />Something unusual; a rare gem<br />Beauty unflaunted; a stunning hem<br />Heart shaped velcro straps<br />Tempting fate to remain apart<br />Incarcerating pleasures littered in the magical room ajar<br />Passion, pride, hurt, a churning heart<br />Now boiling in a cauldron labeled regret<br />That bird should have never left its nest<br />Its plumage detached, it's tweeting beak severed,<br />And it's feet shackled with twines bandits detest.<br /><br />Copyright © David Kwakye 2010David Kwakyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04983215627005521942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5395426387287331193.post-45670691187038624352010-07-03T06:00:00.000-07:002010-07-03T06:03:57.198-07:00What's love?What’s love? Can you tell me?<br />The head-dizzying flutter of the heart at the mention of your man’s name, maybe?<br />I ask the question of you, you, and you…Because looking through the magnifying glass, what I’m seeing has me confused, and feeling blue<br />Is love a four letter word that deludes the head?Or perhaps, it is the anguish that engulfs a mother’s belly at the sight of her sick child with beads of sweat on her forehead, shivering in bed<br />The smiling face of a brother that contorts quickly, turns around, and stabs you in the back?<br />Or the voice that says, “Good luck,” but in her head, she wants nothing but for you to stumble and fall in the dark?<br />A MOMENT PLEASE, A TEAR STREAKS DOWN MY RIGHT CHEEK, BUT I WON’T WIPE IT AWAY. I’LL ONLY SNIFF, AND LET IT DRY IN THE FOUL SMELLING BREEZE<br />Is it the heart piercing sight of your fiancée and your best friend in bed, his phallus in her hands, her eyes closed by ecstasy, while she sucks?<br />Is it the finger that points quickly, judging, saying, “Oh, he’s such a fool,”<br />But in the same situation, in the same shoes, you’d only last a mile or two?<br />Am I hitting too close to home?<br />Have you done any of these, does it get to your bone?<br />Could love be listening to your mistress giggle, lying to you you’re a hulk, while your wife cries in the melancholic zone?<br />Are you saying I should leave you alone?<br />Oh, but why? Trust me, I don’t mean to cloak your being with guilt<br />I’m just curious, eager to know if love shares a frontier with choking filth.<br /><br />Copyright © David Kwakye 2010David Kwakyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04983215627005521942noreply@blogger.com0