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