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Opinions of Tuesday, 12 September 2017

Columnist: Robert Abeku Ansah

Shreds of veracity

After the rains, the sun rose up again to shine and to bright all corners

But it was under the same sun that the painters couldn’t display their artistry

So the sun was the sun but not the son of the sun

It showed its face yet I didn’t see the corner myself

The baker’s prolonged dry heat in that enclosed prison made my skin melt

The core of my skin was roasted

Roasted and peeled off like the flesh of a game

My nose started to husk off

And my knees could not hold my body any long

The core of my skin was roasted in a prolonged dry heat.

I did not kill a rat

My hands have always been as sparkling as the water for baptism

And the taste of my words, has been as sweet as monosaccharides

But they have pinched my ear and I can’t hear the sounds of birds anymore

I have been taken to task and fiction can’t make the records be set straight forward.

I have been slayed by the predators of life

I have been slayed but I haven’t been naïve

My only gift of sparkling marks have been shredded in the trash bin and torn into tatters

And my back is being roasted for nothing

The arbiter did not give me justice for my mark was shredded in strips