DIARY OF A COAST GIRL

 At two, there comes a stir, Where the pillows feel harder, The walls begin to stare, And the bed grows flatter. The cock crows to remind you You're not the universe's only soul awake. They've walked this path through and through, And know its weight and all it takes. Too much for wanting success, It always comes at a fee, The beautiful things that bring happiness, Sometimes, you must let them flee. Yet they whisper, “stay with me” With soothing voices of melancholy Awakening feelings of blue  To drive away their defeat A tug of war,  Between dreams to fulfil and a joy to feel A cost to pay, and a wound to heal A choice, between dreams and joys (I don't know what to put here so😂😂)

   ...I've been caught up in the creative mind of people so bad that even though grass was greener in my backyard, I wanted it at my feet....             IN THE SEEKER'S MIND Growing up in one of the dilapidated buildings in my community, luxury and riches were things I only experienced vicariously, through the lives of some neighbors’ kids, or the ones my mother and father claimed as “uncles” or “brothers” from some ancestral line. I lived also, somehow in those worlds because of the books I read and the movies I stood on tiptoes to watch through the open windows of kind neighbours. The beauty of it all wasn’t just living through their stories but the hope it gave me. I dreamt of a future where the clapping of rusted roofing sheets and the songs of birds and crowing cocks wouldn’t be what woke me or my children. Hence I went seeking Him and His Kingdom,for every other thing to be added, including my dreams and hoping to live freely like the bird...

 I have dreamt of a love where our heartbeats Compliment each other like a Koshka, Our arms, an open portal teleporting us from the world. Yet, I've found love where there is no love. Or have I found love where there's a different kind of love? Is he the one whose sweetness Flows through his words like Songs of Solomon? Whose chocolates are from the finest mall, And whose smile shines as bright as the morning sun, Blessing me with the day's first vitamin and blessings? Perhaps he is the right one I’ve never loved, Or the wrong one I’ve never tried to love right. Is he the one whose love lights up the darkest tunnel, Blinding all who care to see its beauty? His words rise before the sun rises, Carried by the moist breeze of dawn And accompanied by the melodies of the singing birds. His love, so pure and kind Reflect through his reminders Just as I dreamt, just as I asked the universe for. Is this the universe's message? That my dreams are not fantasies? Yet, he is the wr...

It was a Saturday morning, unlike other days, the moist breeze of dawn didn't bring the melodious tunes of the early morning singing birds, nor did it echo the sound of the showers. It only carried the cold that accompanied it to me on my bed. I was still drowsy and contemplating if I should just keep myself in this sheet and pretend the night wasn't over or get up and train myself for the winter days in “Ablotsi”. Telling you I sluggishly dragged myself out of bed would be a lie because I jumped down since I was on a top bunk and started looking for my slippers, as I was still sleepy. I did what I had to do and was talking to my friend about meeting him in the farmer's hall (Akuafo) since I was going to use the library there. During the call, a colleague knocked and asked if I would go to the 1957 art gallery.  It wasn't part of my plans, and the fact that we were three and two of them had plans and were even dressed before letting me know made me feel a sting. But I h...

“And the Holy Spirit, Amen.” I faintly heard as my wandering mind returned to the present moment. The mind has its freedom, and I believe it’s the only free thing a prisoner has. I was in the Catholic church for my aunt’s burial. Though my body was present, my mind was travelling through the past, the present, and the future. In the past, I remembered a woman called Dashi. Dashi was part of the African traditional religion and very devoted. Just like in other religions, there were levels and titles. For her long years of devotion, she had her title and was called Dashi. Her name, “Dashi,” meant the snake goddess. Dashi was a very good woman, kind, generous, and witty. She was known in our village for making the best roasted groundnuts and maize, and we were always the first to taste them. On days we weren’t around, she would leave them with our grandma or mum for us. It was the same with her "Bora" and other foods she sold. Dashi didn’t only share her food with us. She also s...

 The Night Walkers Once, I lived the nights Where the moon paired with burning wood To help an aging old man tell his tales Of times when they were blazing like fire And glowed like the moon. Once, I lived the nights Where my maesters shared stories Of the night walkers The terrors and bad omens they brought, And the messages they left behind. They said they came as men, They said they came as women, They came to leave omens, They said they came as animals, They said they came as the wind. But I have lived the night Where the night walkers were no destroyers. They were drunk men staggering home, Women; ancestors with calabashes in search of water. Their messages were acts that screamed privacy. The animals were flying owls, Active crabs, busy by the wall, making new homes. They were black male cats with glowing eyes, Visiting their white partners with drowsy gazes, with meows that made their “catish” sultry. The wind was the sea breeze, Running free, sweeping through the surface. ...