Trapped in Deceit
Prestidigitation persists on... propaganda cometh from beyond extra, the false-Judge cuddle not, never a justice-just; an illusion-cuddle intertwined, to assault with a cudgel, the reminisce of our innocent youth, heard in a pale voice; unheard clamour. this isn't a story to narrate, a tale to tell, sweet-bud, sugarcane songs sung, but an agony that liveth with a scar, within the docile child_ easily manipulated to tell (a) vanity to ride on... our mothers are watching beneath a distance. Our fathers are reminiscing closer to our lips, like the kiss, a mean Judas gave to Jesus at... the lies never told of my grandmother to her children's children, She was the woman I heard the truth from a childhood memory. Discrimination is false, I recalled, but the leaders now a colony we are matching to a forward never, a promise-failed nation of vanity. Call (us) naive(ly) to see us through... should the follower strangle at the middle of the tunnel, with vexation and sorrows to embrace a piercing needle? grandmother untold prose into real poetry; 1+3=2 and a,c,b, a recount till never count(ed); she voiced, my son!...a youth you are, ought to commence from the kindergarten of life, sprout of submissiveness, to counter the line of trustworthiness. but the recent flashback is my submissiveness to a deceitful predator, tossing me on the sideline on a devil's earphone, oh, Kwame Nkrumah! Where are you? Where are thou, Rawlings! Grandma, are you there! grandma: it's all about our leaders, conjuring and chanting lies to your children's children we've been deceived to believe, like the utterance of a scholar; "heeding to nothing from anything to something", which is a decade dream_by then my bones may have rotten to dust the manures in the soil. they are sheep which don't serve, we are cats who calmly adhere. tomorrow unravels the day to unearth the factual milk from grandmother's graveyard; the milk of truthfulness of an open-minded eye like the apple Adam+Eve ate in the garden... We've got to hesitate to achieve a score but they have already bathed the youths in the water of deceits, they heed not to revamp, renovations nor orientation.
Asare Albert Kweku, writing as K.Asare-Bediako is a young upcoming Ghanaian writer, teacher, coach and poet.
He has his works published or are forthcoming in magazines such as Ngiga review, Eskimo pie mag, etc and anthologies such as Dying Phyniox, Framers of Shrieben, etc.
He chose writing as a therapy to aid him breath away the thoughts of his unseen father from birth.
He is either singing or learning songs, reading or watching TV when he is not writing. @K.Asare-Bediako