Some had daggers in the
tunics of their mentality,
ready to strike with
verbal cannons,
after their long hibernation
of patience
My soul burning
in the oven of my mind,
convicted with a hot stillness,
arrested by uneasiness
I was tethered to a fearful silence,
knowing that sin
was the graffiti all over my action
In deep silence,
surfaced by the sorrow of this felony,
I lay still,
under the siege of innocence,
because righteousness sought
to shoot me down
with bullets of reflection
I was a castle of guilt,
soon to be demolished
by flying cannon balls from
every side, my instinct felt
it could only befriend
the still air that encircled me,
with the grim poignance
of injustice.
By Kakraba Afful