You see me,

but the mirror of your eyes

do not declare me sane

enough for the fluence of your mind

I realise verbal hate

and the complacency of your intelligence,

sits, relaxed,

full of false prophecy

You sit on top of the panel,

your mind refuses to wisely meander

and hands refuse to feel,

the grow numb,

by the hormone of surfaceness

and with an intentional negligence,

fail to see reality,

invading fantasy,

with the swagger of wrong words

You are the judge,

sitting on the couch

of your own justice

and sentencing me

to life or death

heavenly or hell

the truth conceived by

the womb of your

mentality shall surely tell.

By Kakraba Afful