my life gasps for air,

as it dearly tries to catch vapours

sulking in conviction,

I am a monument of broken bones

like pity

it crawls on its belly

The streets are mattress

of distress in atro-city

then I sneeze my fortunes away

with each breathe of life

with each breathe of hopelessness

I am weak,

so do my muscles betray me,

so much so that I cannot

even lift up the air,

strength is a treachery

My eyes are wrestled and weel beaten

by mystery,

my eyes punched by the sting

of displeasure, do redden

by the sight of discomfort

and the bitter taste of displeasure

I succumb to a trance,

which buries me beneath

suppresses my works

and kills my heartbeat.

By Kakraba Afful