Prose by me

(In Memory of a Beloved Brother and anyone grieving the loss of their loved ones)

You left without a goodbye

I’ve been lost,  

I’ve been shattered,  

The world a blur of meaningless noise.  

I’ve been hollowed,  

A shell of who I was—  

Why did you leave so sudden, so silent?  

A whisper, a touch, a final word—  

Anything but this cruel absence.  

I wish I held you as the light left your eyes,  

I wish I heard your voice one last time.  

*”Verily, we all must go someday,”*  

The only refrain that quiets my screaming heart.  

I thought I was strong,  

I thought I could bear it,  

Be the rock for those drowning in grief.  

I thought I knew pain,  

I thought you’d stay—  

A lifetime of laughter, decades of stories.  

But here you are, still and silent,  

And the greatest agony is knowing  

I will never hear your laugh again.  

This can’t be real.  

This isn’t you.

Pinch me, wake me—  

Tell me this is just a nightmare.  

But my trembling hands touch cold truth:  

You are gone.  

Yet you are everywhere—  

In the echoes of my breath,  

In the love you planted deep within us.  

I wish this were a fairytale,  

Where heroes never fade,  

Where goodbyes are never forever.  

But here you lie, lifeless,  

And I am hollowed.  

I tried to fill the void with memories,  

With warmth, with rage, with desperate hope—  

But the chasm remains.  

I clawed at Death’s icy grip,  

Pounded my fists against its unfeeling hold,  

Wrapped you in every ounce of love I had left—  

But its frost was eternal.  

You left without a goodbye.  

Yet here’s the truth, my Champion:  

Though you are gone,  

You are not lost.  

Your love still lives—  

In every smile you gave,  

In every life you touched,  

In every moment we carry you forward.  

So I will not let grief be your only legacy.  

I will hold the joy we shared,  

The laughter, the light, the unshakable bond.  

I will love fiercely, as you did.  

I will live fully, as you would want.  

And though my heart is fractured,  

It beats with the strength you taught me.  

Goodbye, dear brother—  

Or perhaps, not goodbye.  

But until I see you again.

Beneath These Rusted Chains

Our ancestors’ bones still whisper in the soil,

once kings who walked where cassava grew tall,  

their laughter an anthem swallowed by trader’s gold.  

What ghostly arithmetic deemed a soul worth less  

than a barrel of rum, a fist of gunpowder?  

They folded us into ships’ rancid bellies,  

stacked like yams, baptized in our own vomit.  

The sea wept salt where our tears had dried.  

Decades dawned. Chains rusted, but not the rot beneath.  

We raised flags, sang anthems, buried martyrs

“The struggle has ended!” they cried.  

Yet markets still trade in our mothers’ silence,  

our children’s hunger priced in foreign ledgers.  

Streets throb with the phantom wails  

of those who vanished into colonial archives,  

their names erased like chalk in monsoon rain.  

Tell me can these bones breathe again?

Does the soil remember how to be fertile,  

or have we salted it with our swallowed rage?  

When the drums beat “freedom,” who still flinches,  

haunted by the whip’s old rhythm?  

Our pride, a scar. Our unity, a myth sold to tourists.  

I search the horizon for Nkrumah’s fire 

a flicker? Or just another streetlamp’s lie?  

We are heirs to a revolution half-born,  

still shackled to a question that chokes:  

Did we break the chains, or simply learn to dance in them?

Happy Independence Day 🇬🇭

There’s an echo where your laugh used to live 

a hollow I’ve learned to call memory.

They say time stitches wounds, but some threads  

stay loose, letting the cold in.  

I still catch your shadow in sunsets,  

your voice tangled in old songs.  

Grief is just love with nowhere to go

it pools in my palms, heavy as a stone  

I refuse to drop.  

But today, I plant your name in the soil  

of my tomorrows. I wear your pride  

like a second skin.  

I am here.  

I am growing.  

I am learning to hold the “always” of missing you  

without breaking.

You’re the ink in every word I write,  

the quiet hum beneath my brave.  

Wherever you are 

I am your unfinished story,  

still becoming.  

And when the ache comes, I’ll whisper:  

“Watch me bloom anyway.”

For you, who taught me  

how to bend but never shatter.  

💔✨  

I knew I didn’t stand a chance,  

But still, I fought, hoping to change the odds.  

I knew it was hopeless from the start,  

But I worked, I bled, I gave it all—  

And now I’m left with nothing but this silence.  

It’s not even a relationship anymore,  

Not even a flicker of what it once was.  

How do I describe this? How do I call it?  

Going 28,

And I don’t know where I stand,  

I don’t know what to do,  

What step to take next.  

I’m just stuck,  

And you?  

You don’t know either.  

So where does that leave me?

I knew I never stood a chance,  

But now, it’s not just that—  

It’s the fact that I can’t even stand  

The chance of not standing a chance.  

I’m empty,  

Hollowed out by this void that grows each day.  

I’ve always been terrified of growing old,  

Of being alone,  

Of fading into the quiet shadows of time.  

I was foolish to fight against fate,  

To try to alter something that was never meant to be.

I gave everything,  

And still, it was never enough.  

I still didn’t stand a chance,  

And I never will.  

The hurt doesn’t fade,  

It only sharpens with every moment,  

Every word that confirms my deepest fear.  

They say the pain will lessen with time,  

But with every reminder,  

Every new hurt,  

The tears only fall harder.  

The ache doesn’t soften,  

It burrows deeper.

I never stood a chance.  

And I never will.

I feel the weight of what’s to come,  

Before the first step is even taken,  

A storm of doubts, like thunder drums,  

I brace for what I’ve yet to awaken.  

Regrets, they knock before the door,  

A whisper soft, yet piercing clear,  

I know the cost, I know the score—  

But still, I walk, despite my fear.  

Why face the future, knowing pain,  

When silence calls and peace feels near?  

But no, I’ll borrow from the rain,  

And let it wash away my tears.

I’ve loved before with open hands,  

And lost the things I couldn’t keep,  

Yet still, I wander, still, I stand,  

A promise to myself I’ll keep.  

To regret before the show begins—  

To taste the sweetness, feel the sting,  

Is to live with love that never wins,  

Yet never stops, and always sings.

I’ll hold the ache, the weight, the flame,  

For what is mine, or never was—  

In joy, in sorrow, still the same,  

I’ll regret it all, but not because.

In the depths of our being, resilience resides,

Though fragile as glass, our strength defies.

As challenges mount and pressure builds,

We feel ourselves breaking, yet destiny willed.

Beneath the surface, a warrior lies,

A fierce and unstoppable force, she flies.

Though worn and weathered, her spirit stands,

A beacon of courage in barren lands.

With each trial endured, our resolve is steeled,

Hardened by adversity, our fate sealed.

Through storms and tempests, we bravely tread,

For in our hearts, lies the fire we’ve fed.

It’s natural to falter, to lag behind,

But strength lies not in what we find.

No batteries required, no external aid,

For within ourselves, the power is laid.

We are stronger than we dare believe,

Unstoppable forces, ready to achieve.

So let us march forth, with heads held high,

For in unity and courage, we’ll touch the sky.

Shackled and bound by chains of oppression, our once proud and able-bodied ancestors roamed the fertile lands with heads held high, their spirits unbroken despite the weight of injustice bearing down upon them. But their strength was no match for the greed of those in power, who traded their dignity for fleeting riches.

What price did they pay for their betrayal? Was it the glint of gold that blinded them to the suffering of their own people? Or the allure of foreign luxuries that led them to barter away our birthright? Regardless of the currency, the cost was steep: the enslavement of generations, the agony of separation, and the erasure of our humanity.

Dragged through the mud, our ancestors were paraded like commodities in the market square, their worth measured by the callous hands of traders. Sold into bondage, they were condemned to a life of toil and torment, their bodies confined to the depths of dark dungeons, suffocating under the weight of cruelty and despair.

In those cavernous prisons, our black bodies were stacked like cordwood, each breath a struggle against the crushing weight of oppression. Yet amid the darkness, some found the courage to resist, to defy their captors and demand their rightful freedom. But for many, the price of defiance was death, their blood staining the earth as a testament to their unyielding spirit.

Now, decades later, we stand on the precipice of independence, but the shackles of the past still bind us. Though the chains may be rusted and worn, their grip on our collective consciousness remains firm, reminding us of the injustices that continue to plague our society.

But let us not despair, for the struggle is not over. As Nkrumah proclaimed, “at long last, the struggle has ended,” but the fight for true liberation has only just begun. It is up to us, the inheritors of their legacy, to break free from the shackles of the past and forge a future where justice, equality, and dignity reign supreme.

Together, let us rise up and cast off the chains that bind us, reclaiming our pride, our power, and our humanity. For only then can we truly say that the shackles of oppression have been shattered, and the promise of independence fulfilled.

Happy 67th Independence

In the relentless cascade of torment, my mind swirls in an abyss of dizziness, an indistinct fusion of heartache and a weighted ache that threatens to silence the rhythmic cadence of my heart. The pain, a dagger’s precision, pierces through, a chilling numbness enveloping every beat like a drowning echo in the coldest of waters or perhaps blood; the distinction blurred in the anguish.

A burden too heavy, the lowest ebb of pain, where fatigue emanates from tear-soaked eyes, each step through cold, dusty streets stirs the dormant agony. The night, once feared, now holds no terror, for the pain usurps even the deepest shadows. Can I endure this relentless assault? Survive the desolation that echoes in my chest? Nights echo with contemplations of ending it all, mornings survived with no recollection of the struggle.

A journey to the 3rd street, legs weary from sacrifice, glimpses of contaminated pits, the involuntary fasting, the terror of darkness and stress. Each step, a reminder of the enduring agony. Anxiety meds and talks beckon, yet the pool of worries and anxiety seems bottomless; an undeserved symphony of despair. Tales of sacrifice and pain weigh upon me, an overwhelming sadness from which I can’t extricate myself.

A plea lingers – can I prevail against this relentless tide? A bravado if I do, a reluctant surrender if I don’t, for in every heartbeat, I fought. A soul drowning in the abyss of melancholy, where the solace I seek remains elusive. The one meant to ease my journey misunderstands, amplifying the desire for an end. In the echo of my pain, I long for a reprieve that seems ever elusive.

Unlucky, I feel, as I grapple with a cascade of tales and pains that seem to stretch beyond a lifetime. Can I conquer this tumult? Bravo, if I emerge victorious; if not, know that I resisted with every ounce of strength. I fought – an endeavor witnessed by the heavens.

My heart, it weeps with an unfathomable ache,

Quivering within, wounded by sharp, relentless strikes,

Repeating, over and over, like cruel stripes.

Oh, how I yearn for this anguish to dissipate,

To release me from the clutches of this colossal weight.

Once again, I grasp a lighter in my trembling hand,

Resisting the tempting urge to set my pain ablaze.

Yet, even as I write these words, my fingers falter,

Their trembling testament to the depth of my despair.

I have tried, oh how I have tried, to move this mountain,

But its colossal mass moves at an agonizing pace.

I close my eyes, and time slows to a crawl,

Yet the tick of the clock remains a relentless drumbeat.

Trapped within a loop of static, I am bound,

Tangled in the thorny chains of torment and trauma.

How can I break free from this prison of pain?

Will there ever come a day when I am truly unburdened?

I traverse vast oceans in search of solace,

But all I find are varying degrees of torment,

An endless array of agonies, each unique in its own right.

I’ve exhausted every effort, given my all,

Only to be met with the searing blade of despair.

Like molten steel, it carves through my tender heart,

Inflicting a multitude of agonies, each more profound than the last.

I have tried, dear soul, I have truly tried,

But the weight of sorrow bears down, unyielding.

Oh, how I long for respite from this haunting pain,

For a glimmer of hope to pierce through the darkness.

May my words carry the weight of my anguish,

That they may resonate and touch the depths of empathy.

In this retelling of sorrow, let the emotions flow,

May these added words forge a connection, stronger than before.

Oh, the rock of passion, deep and resounding,

Hell’s flames ignited, vibrations abounding.

A concept of sensation, milder yet stronger,

Two souls colliding, intimacy no longer a ponder.

Back and forth he swayed, up and down he roamed,

Turning and spinning, like parallel connectors entwined and honed.

Shaking the core, veins trembling in delight,

How did I arrive here, in this realm of fervent night?

Once thinking I despised such intensity,

Now here I lie, on my back, in ecstatic affinity.

Knees half-caped, at the apex of desire’s peak,

A mischievous smile, wickedly staring, making me weak.

Oh, how can I explain, how did I arrive at this place?

Insanely intense, each touch a flame ablaze.

He, unaware of the power his bare hands possess,

Melting my existence, my body left defenseless.

Words fail me now, expressions flee,

This sensation overwhelming, consuming me.

I surrender to its majesty, its dramatic decree,

In awe and silence, I shall forever be.

For never before have I been rendered speechless,

But this, oh, this ecstasy, I shall humbly acquiesce.

In the presence of such passion, I shall no longer speak,

Enveloped in its embrace, forevermore, I shall keep.