Tag: Creative writing
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The confinement
I did not know the couple were childless. I had assumed they were recently married. And so when I got the mild rebuke to stop being friendly towards the children on the compound, it made no sense to me. “This is my spiritual father. He came all the way from Mali to attend my wedding.”…
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The road to Damascus -page 3/100
I still remember the first day of class. Used money I was supposed to save, to buy myself fine clothes and shoes, and a new phone. I hadn’t updated my closet in years. That was what I told myself. And it was true. But the real motive sitting at the bottom of my heart was…
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strange times
It all started with village folktales. Of ghosts loitering in the silence of midnight, stalking a wandering stranger or a lone recalcitrant youth returning home late. As mother lowered the wick of the lantern, the darkness in the room loomed large. I shut my eyes tight, careful to not think about dark tales of the…
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The road to Damascus -page 2/100
News from home. Father has been transferred. To pastor a new church. In another town many miles away. Perhaps we should be happy. But we have no reason to be. It’s just a change from one problem to the same problem wearing a different face. In accompanying our father on his missions, we see how…
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a howling wasteland
tied to a treewas the kidnapped queenwincing at the mirage of advancing horsesmirage of a rescue teamdaunting reality of massive losses her chief magician chantshis voice echoing in the howling wastelanda figure in a picture enlarges into a real beinglike a fast-forwarded movieon rewind to a slow motion scene wearing her crown of planetsthe great…
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Isn’t a struggle a story ?
I stare at the picture,wondering what to write,noticing my first lines do not rhyme and have no consistent metre I question my motives.To express, or impress ?Maybe I digressto thoughts with no themes. Isn’t a struggle a story?Shouldn’t this writers’ blockbe time to pause,to see beauty even in what seems sordid? https://wp.me/paf3ao-n9y
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spill your feelings
have your loose lipsbegun lootingyour chances of success,turning potential into worst nightmares? does your intuitiontell you you’re contributingto your slow progressand growing distress? keeping a secret can be toughlike an irresistible coughfor some, keeping a small circlecan be a major hurdle but for your own goodalways confide in a bookfew people really careabout your welfare…
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same sleep unites them
they gave her water and clayand she molded out history and storiessitting in the soil for centuries… they went to bed at different timesbut the same sleep unites them different facessculpted on different daysmolded out of same clay Different beginnings Same tale from dust they camenaked and not ashamedone by one they withered and felllike…
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Sunday night drama
I turned to find mother crying. I did not understand why. But I always kept the incident in my heart, together with the storyline of the movie we were watching that day. When I was a child, every Sunday night there was this programme on television by name “Akan Drama”. It happened that on one…
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night falls with its eyesores
as night falls with its eyesoreshawling memories of the day beyond the horizonhordes of people return homesome to mess, and debtsmurmuring in low tonesothers return with relief,glad to have found the holy paycheckto purchase their daily breadand peacesinging Hallelujahloud enough to be heardeven in Californiabut however your day may beI hope the lessons can be…
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