this hum drum existence we live
working ourselves to the bone to have the bills paid
clock in, clock out
repeat

sometimes each momemt feels magical,
each one wrapped with infinite possibility

some days, life feels like utter futility
a grind till I get to the leisure or buy the next thing
I am supposed to work myself for

I am a clog in the machine of captilism,
but I know something that makes all this
futile monotony not lead to slow death of my soul

the secret I treasure in my heart is that my worth does not lie
in my production or function.

I have value, because I have the breadth of life flowing in me.
and when my heart connects to the bredth of life in you,
then two hearts transform futility into beauty
I realize for a moment I am not alone,
that a meeting of hearts sparked hope
and transformed each other from dehumanized
objects into persons

How bored am I?
Ridculously bored.
Why? Because I work nine to five.
Watch me as I slowly die
to the beat of the clock
Slowly ticking by.

A sudden exposure
To unstoppable decline
In someone who for years
Has lived in Christmas cards
And fading eight by tens
Brought into sudden sharp relief
By family ties
And how to handle
The witnessing
Of memory and self
Stripped bare
The slow unfair unravelling of time
Still it’s best to hide
Behind my own uncertain way of feeling
Don’t aggravate the schism
Between the grown man
And the child

das licht ist

.  .   .   .    .     .       . kinda

kinder

like . like

nacht ist.

like kinda
canis
can
(can-can; you do the?)
canem

                                      edit.

Oh poor poor sky

Did anything go awry?

Please tell I

Without making up a lie



Sky oh poor sky

Why? Do you feel shy?

You lie open and cry

And can’t tell me why?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014