when it begins to snow deception

and a chill scars your neck and spine

you surely know there something wrong

because turmoil is the regiment

chasing you with determination

No matter where you run,

the eyes of gloom bare witness

to attempted flight,

but you're in a maze of horror,

a maze where the gates to freedom

have been shut by fiendish winds

Now your stability suffocates

and a turbulence overcomes your soul,

the hazardous display of loneliness

by the moon

gives you the creeps

And wearing the cloak of death,

men with brutal knives,

walk like the shadows,

and laugh like blood

Even the wolves refuse to howl

because your destiny is so bleak

by the kiss of the dagger,

death comes home,

longing for blood,

be ready to give out your spirit

or your throat shall

be cut in a blood-thirsty relentlessness,

and your soul

shall shriek.

                                 By Kakraba Afful

Deep beneath the conscience of the sky

a paradise is withering,

and a demystifying cadavery

bores into its life,

There is a dismal spell

that cackles, and claws

that dwindle with foretold defeat,

the defeat of life

The soil cries,

as it kisses blood involuntarily

and the clouds moan,

it's raining arrows,

the blight of war looms!

and mottles the leaves of peace

You would marvel at the

wizardry of the shrapnels

and how their breathe of fire,

sells tickets to hell,

by the devil's franchise

war, the mighty artist,

the exact painting of disaster

and the reward

for misunderstanding,

in the museum of differences,

trust is beheaded

and militance continues to

paint the picture of corpses

and the battery of innocence

babies crying,

fathers dying

and mothers crying

war is the mosaic effect

that discolours their skin

into death,

till they rot and merge

with the soil,

and become the

tattered clay of misery

as the wailing clock ticks.

                                                By Kakraba Afful

In life, you can witness

how the minds of many

are raped by falsehood,

and their innocence,

like a corrupted virginity

that now bleeds,

is deeply soaked in tears

By many, who

speak the dialect of a simoom

there is a blindness

common to all,

that by words,

evident truths be maimed

and declared waste,

and hidden till it

rots by time

Well, with the skills

of the tongue, an uncanny

jungle is created

and now the truth becomes

a lion or tiger

waiting to ambush those

who have stolen

the honey of revelation

in this forest of life.

                                             By Kakraba Afful

The truth, a walking mirror

yet unseen and invisible,

ugly and bitter in its bosom,

creeps in the lair of ignorance,

by the oligarchy of lies

Knowing very well

it flies like a raging sword

when told,

lingers in the conscience

of men, drowned in exile,

and made extinct

by the perpetual choice

of fallacy

Well, like I said,

as I ugly as it is

does not shine,

and continues to

darken with the leprosy of revelation

and rejected and dejected

it becomes a merciless

arrow when unleashed,

but for now it is chained

by vehement negligence,

awaiting the time it shall

be release by the transparence

of destiny itself.

                                By Kakraba Afful