Feature Article of Monday, 28 November 2011
Columnist: Sakyi, Kwesi Atta
By Kwesi Atta Sakyi
24th November 2011
I’m free to be enslaved by my wife,
I’m lucky to be slave all my life,
Under her canopy, I have a life,
She gives me five,
Ehye besia ayaadze hyehyeehyew,
Owo na ehye ho no,
Ka wo ano paado,
Wo ho akyer wo dzendzendzen ma bobor abor wo!
Her verbiage sharper than a knife,
But then, what a life without a wife?
Rain brimstone, rain fire,
My wife is my permanent hire,
And I don’t tire of her baptism of fire,
Her sonorous voice sweeter than a fife (flute),
I need her, but do I, to survive?
Is that why homos in Ghana are rife?
Don’t tell me, era of homos has arrived!
They hive alive in the jive zone,
They jive and dive, not giving a damn
I’m free to chart my life,
I’m free to be her prisoner for life,
Between these options, I have no option
But choose her above all alternatives,
Tied to the apron strings of my wife,
To me, there is no life without a string,
Odo ye wu
She is the rudder of my ship
She wears my wedding ring
She is the bum steer guiding me over the rim
Without her I run aground and pitch in a ditch
Is she a witch or ostrich! This bitch has bewitched me!
When in trouble, to my rescue she pitches in
A man may huff and puff
He’s nothing but puffed up stuff,
See his impotence that makes him take snuff,
Truly, if he be man enough,
Let him get a bumpy ride
From her tigress and empress in the saddle,
Then in his false realm and ego,
Let him ram and roam without digress,
Let him rant and moan
And moan and rant at the moon in ecstasy-
Woman tigress on top-wig, powder, perfumery, lipstick and all-
Let the man weigh anchor and recall an encore,
But between his legs, cower, shudder and disengage gear,
His tail and joystick brutally bruised beyond bearing,
Listing badly like a torpedoed man-of-war,
But then, did he marry a whore?
Or is he contemplating decommission
And retirement from the amorous war
A man with his tight fist may boast
But only with a loaded purse toast
And propose the fairest Venus along the coast
But once married and she is in charge,
The poor host becomes the guest and guess-
The guest assumes airs of host!
That is the woman from Cape Coast
He sentences his hard won freedom
To life imprisonment with hard labour,
Incarcerated in the conjugal castle of love torture,
Oh, such was my Fante experience in Cape Coast,
In the end, I concluded marriage is a hoax,
Especially, if premised on money and physical beauty,
And the twain host an unholy matrimony,
Then the man can see red, if woman led.The match will be fixed and the elections rigged!
(My wife and I are from Winneba. At no time did I encounter any woman from Cape Coast. The poem is purely fictional and written at the 61st anniversary of my birthday. Enjoy reading).
By Kwesi Atta Sakyi