Born One

Once a treasured treasure, a vessel of honour

A version of immense pride

Yet losing my virginity

To bear an untimely pregnancy

Has given me such a wedlock ride

So I gave birth, not to stick to abortion as others do daily

Even though faith mistakenly brought my child and I together early

Leaving me no faith that ultimate to be legitimate

But at this tender age of mine I’ve been shut behind the marriage gate

Less of Oliver twist, I wanted to taste just a morsel of marriage

Yet the courage I carry as having a child strikes my courage

The courage of not being regarded as secondhand or inferior in the process of marriage

I’ve been tossed like the game of chess

For several men consider me as a mess

Childbearing before marriage in this diaspora is worse than committing a sacred offense

It is as if you are sitting on the devil’s throne

Especially when you are from a religious home

You’re not just being tagged #born one in essence

You become the subject of laughter facing severe public nonsense

“She’s born one” your story will be on all lips and existing articles

But it wasn’t my fault too love on the wrong side

so why is society burning my desires and causing my dreams to forcefully hide

It always not a desire to be a victim of what I call a date rape

Why then has my destiny been tired with a mere rope?

Why have I been rejected by religion and the entire society?

Why have been ejected from the house as if I’ve committed a calamity?

So now the streets has become my living and holistic entity

Lewdness and harlotry has become my new identity

Just and just because I have an extra mouth to feed

Just because I have to survive and provide for our daily needs

So to choose to labour from dawn to dusk

As if my life has come to an end

Then I’ll be a slay Queen or a prostitute in the dark

At least is a normal trend

Or deny my child and claim to be a virgin

Just to be married to the innocent

So please endure the deception, for my hopes of tasting marriage is lost

Yet I have to survive at any cost

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Are you a comforter?

Or an Armageddon of the bed?

You forced sunshine into the night,

Your exploits echoed fear and joy

Into the annals of the born and unborn

You break human walls

In a vulnerable community,

welded by race and ethnocentrism.

I met you first in a car–

A lonely destination,

And you showed so much compassion.

You overlooked my dark colour,

Something you watched with your own eyes

Yet you accepted me wholeheartedly

Crushed long-held family conventions,

Built traditions that mend pots

engravings sharper than a razor blade

to give this beautiful life

that the first poem I wrote

echoed you.

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It was not a mistake, I married you

Love held us knitted

Love is gone sour

Mother found a village bride

But I preferred you


She saw the trouble coming

It was the love I chose

Now, the pressure is heavily built on me

I knew you, I wedded you, I couldn’t conquer the nightmare of adultery


Traditional rituals held

The bride price paid

But the dowry was adulterous

On the aisle, l walked with you

And the ring, love’s testament


I married the trouble that ruined me

Now, l owe my family a million apologies

Pretence in love

But treachery sewed in your heart


Billions of my treasure stolen

Absconded with your lover

And l am dismayed

The bittersweet taste of it all is that you left Chimamanda and little Joe


Now, I have to take care of the kids alone

Who will replace the mother of my kids?

The wine I married has gone sour

She lost her love, marriage and kids to adultery


My better half left without mother’s love

Little Joe cries all night

No breast to suck in the ninth month

Chimamanda has not stopped asking your whereabout


No thought of the pains of child birth

Love of your children died the day you slept out

Going out, not easy

My place of daily bread suffers

I can’t concentrate anymore


The bairn cries in my heart

And my heart holds the love which is my blood

Waking up at night, my worries

Coming home after the day’s toil, my fears

Raising the kids alone stares me in the face


Bonding again, not an option

Loving again, defeated in my heart

Leaving the kids to another in marriage died naturally

The kids are my pride

And my love abounds in them

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Brain Father

Man of vision and ambition yet an available friend for all

Nurturer of my brain children(poems)

Potential instrument in my career

With motherly care have you held my hands and taught me to walk in the field of writers

You took hold of a fatherly duty and lead me on the road of knowledge

With compassion and love did you lend me a listening ear and a shoulder to lean on

Showing to me, the very definition of true friendship

Helping me release my writing potentials; you made known to me you are the Boss!

An arduous role yet you played all

Raw as my poems are, you make them best for readers

Today! you are the reader

Oh how I wish I could make it best for you

This is however the breadth of my piece

Like fine wine however, I know

I will age with time!

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To The Drunkard’s Daughter

We like to drink,
We love to drink,
We live to drink,

We like drinking,
We enjoy drinking,
We worship drinking,

We drink for the gods
We drink to quest their needs,
We drink to hear their good words

We drink for our ancestors
We drink to connect with their sailors
We are drunk to see their trailers

We do not respond to our names in it
We respond to the gods’ names in it
We fill our ancestors’ hunger in it

We don’t intend a bad name for another,
We replaced worries with candor.
We take out enjoyment for demeanor.

We know it’s our identity;
We bought it with our sanctity.
We carry it on our heads like impossibility.

We know it’s a headcover
We never intend to handover
We know you will comeover

We are sorry you bear our act
We know you hated this fact.
We are thankful for taking pride in our pact.

We know how you felt.
We understand your burst
We apologize for our heist

Al Latif Kambo-Naa

This poem was written as a sequel to Sugar Kpiebaya’s The Drunkard’s Daughter
“Its Father’s day, people are celebrating their Father’s, what do you have to say about your father today? Here is what I have to say…”


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The hero

Affectionate and exceptional in love
Honest,kind and compassionate
Man of integrity
Helper in child life
With no grades
No competition
Dialogue of moral value
Teacher by action
The life smile

Not expensive
Vow with a golden heart
Spiritual nourishment
Occupied by love
Fraternal family rock
Fire separater
Instrument of encouragement

A model to all
He works miracles on children
A hero indeed
The gifted hands
Shoulder of shelter and rest
He who fought my survival
An oath he promised to his family
Training nurture off springs
Mortal of saving lives

By Saidu Felicia

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We were like the thin air, Unprecedented to our future existence on earth, until you came like a flash.
Guarding the walls you built, awaiting the maiden from Devine coming to expand the horizon of your walls.
Like a soldier of valour, you were indeed prepared for the journey of a life time defense.

You tussled to hustle that one bone to adorn your effort.
Like the sun setting to the west, you got a beautiful bride to be the pillar of defense to you tent.
More tussle you put up, with a fierce hustle.
You lived to put a smile on her face and that of her undeveloped foetus.

The pillar of the family she is, yet you built the pillar.
Mother of the house, yet you provided the comfort of a companion.
Like a farmer, you planted a seed in her that produced your heir.
Knight of the matrimony, you held safe the gate of your home.

Beneath you tear, lies our smiles.
Your sweat, our pride.
Your pains, our comfort.
How can we repay your sacrifice?
To divine, your reward is made.

By: Nwodo Walter Onyebuchi (WALTER PETER’S)

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My Mother



A woman so strong
She builds her home
A woman so brave
She defends her own

A woman so firm
She corrects wrongs
A woman so kind
She feeds everyone

A mother is love
A mother is peace
A mother is true
A mother is virtuous

As loving as Mother Theresa
As Kind–hearted as Lady Diana
As principled as Margaret Thatcher
As hard–working as My Mother.

A woman of substance
My mother is.

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A lake formed from the black voltas
Bowl lying at the Upper tip
In a crossroad, called Wa(come),
Owning a spreadsheet of Land,
Sissala to the North, Lobi to South,
And Flooded by cordless blood.

A windy air blew up calluses of kinship
in a morning tide,
Carrying all the juicy portions of culture,
And roughages of fertile ties
Into a galavanting wind;

Bandwagoning Dagara to the West.

Why would it become empty?
But to create cracks of crates,
Grouping Kwabenas (sons) here,
Abenas (daughters) there,
furrowing pleasant eyebrows.

She looked with an open eye,
Cloven closer to its dry banks
Like Mighty Janjan Pond in harmattan,
Yet so apart like Tibanga Tuo
When crisis beckons.

What’s a cultural bond to a WhatsApper?
A once illustriously illuminating kinship
Peaked in a big Tower of Tendaalung,
An offshoot of a broader Baking Clan,

Lighting corners of Upper West,
Binding Suuri(s) and Puohu(s) together;
A placental fiber,
Stronger than ligature rope.

No! She isn’t a love poet, nor a flower bed,
Yet she connected hearts,
Stitching souls,
And conjoined bodies into a single
family bowl.

Here, in this bowl;
A brother shared a brother’s glory,
Painted a whole community’s mood,
Celebrated a brother’s daughter’s name.

Here, in this bowl;
A brother’s toil is shared,
A cry, a sister’s shoulder ready to bear,
A community’s firmament of mourns.

Here, in this bowl;
An uncle unveiled his merriment to
An orphan’s perching hive,
A cousin’s achievement eulogized
in a crowd’s corner,

Here, in this bowl,
A morsel of history
Sewn-in the hearts of trees,
Remembered by generational leaves.

Here, in this bowl;
Formed an epicenter of Tradition,
Where cords of folklore crisscrossed
Like a vertical sliced Orange.

Now, the bowl has broken,
Facebooker calls it OLDEN;
ARCHAIC swelled up
In an Instagramer’s finger;
Yet Widaana never died.

Now, inside the broken bowl,
PRIMITIVE coiled in a Westerner’s lips;
ANCIENT pegged on modernity’s tongue,
LOCAL occupied technology’s mind
And yet Suuri clamped in nativity.

Houses lost their common bond to fenced yards,
Societies separated by boundaries
Of Religion’s concrete walls.
Cooling wattle and Daubs,
Squashed into molten Iron hubs,
Rising into unknown heavens.

Our curated modern towns of nothingness
Trudged by imaginary time-lines,
religion took it toll, punching societal mores,

A nation’s muffling glory;
A dimming history subdued into
Neighing colonial dialects.

Oh! What a lost HOME?
A COMMUNITY, full of pure values,
Culled into festivals, music
And dance
Lost its course to a pejorative time
of Modernity.


Img: Medium

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My MoM

Love which flows like a fountain of milk
Moistening my dried heart
Love pure and whiter than snow
Regulating my streak heart
Love which shines true like the smile of the morning sun
Brightening my darkened heart
Mama is the true definition of love
Her sweat defines the meekness of her love for the seeds of her womb
Her pains of struggle defines her war all for the best for the seeds of her womb
Her steps of courage into motherhood speaks of her unshakable heroism
Mama is a great warrior of life
The readiness of her lap
Always a cushion for me to fall on whenever the toils of life overwhelm
The softness of her heart, as a tree for me to lean on always
The words of her mouth, drives me on like an aircraft to embrace greatness
And to greater things
Mama is an Angel of life


The Rose ????

Wild is life, I am wilder

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