by Israel Boafo Bansah

O, everywhere I roam and wander in agitation,
The sleep of loneliness chameleons into myriads
Of fictitious shadows and restless dreams,
When the moon envelopes the sun,
Her neck sparkles and glows like rings of golden beads,
My dear one is gone!


I am now just a pawn in the hands of love,
The sudden screech of emotions knock me off into a ditch,
The moment I feared and dreaded most came,
The gnarled heart beats and dies off in sorrow!
Que Sera, Sera!
A poor man has no friend,
Living in a company denuded of genuine love,
No roses were meant for them,
It now dawns on us,
We were just a pawn in the hands of love.
Her breasts are host of grapes that give false hopes,
Songs of “What would be, would be,” are heard,
Heard melodies are sweet, but O,
Unheard ones are sweeter!



Wish I were a sculptor,
I shall grope and peruse the finest gemstones to cut your image,
And I shall carve my dearest one’s stature
Like a palm tree, that springs up with hope and despair that jade the eyes,
Glittering, illuminating, and maiming the heart.
Nye dze!
My heart is bleeding so much,
Am I saffron, a cowboy in the hands of love?
Tears fell off,
My childhood wife deserts me, for I am poor!
Like the ancient composer.



If I were a musician,
I shall compose the greatest of all tunes
And melodies for the heralds of lovers lynch to death at the behest of faithfulness,
O, wounds!
Comrades with afflicted fatal injuries
Dwell in the deep tunnels,
Wailing and sailing, from the whirlwind West,
Then to the East, North wind came leading to South,
Their sea faring skills prove futile in this expedition,
Little is known,
For dreams are buried in ambiguous graves
Beneath the deep blue sea,
All things fall apart!


A playwright!

If I were a playwright,
I shall satirise your follies and foibles in acts, scenes and episodes.
The Thespians shall perform it at the amphitheatre.
For, am I not pawn in the hands of love in the broad daylight?
A servant of the most high!
I shall sing and recite a requiem and your tributes for you at your funeral,
For it is we you hurl your anger at and gave us vinegar as water.
Am I not a pawn in the hands of love?
An angel of death!
Where did I go wrong?
How come your taste is so sour?
A Moment with you has afflicted me with millennia of regrets,
Now, I am just a pawn in the hands of love.
Angel of death,
Cheating and full of pettiness Is too easy,
Try something difficult and honourable.
Like being honest, for I have fallen into your hands,
And now
I am a pawn in the hands of love.
The anvil and the hammer are splitting my heart apart
A pawn in the hands of love am I in disguise?
A pawn in the hands of love!
Source – Amankwah Christiana

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