Many moons, the natural and artificial.

One tuhon, ruling the dark sky and no monsoon.

The natural light is optimum, over-shadowing the artificial, stapping’em they cry monsoon.


Early mon in the crack of dawn. The weather mild, the moon yawns and the battering wind now cemetery quiet. The human walked the beat with minimal tweets.

A feline and fox, social distancing trotted by. Huffs, words fluttered the sphere. It was these two chaps expressing their agro, so crystal clear.

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Concrete Zoo

Ramanq said, we live in a concrete zoo.

The rogue mouse, ant and the silver fish. The moth and the crane fly. Oh! Our good old friend buzzing sweet nothings in our ears, voyeuring and nibbling on human flesh, the mosquito.

One doesn’t need to go the Kpenna Zoo to see the animals or the insects. That is an expensive farce, animals and mammals captured in captivity. A prison bee for entertainment, sorry edutainment, you see.

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Mrs. Kwafia

The fuchure was imminent.

Crickets conducting their choir practice in the thin blade grass fields. Orange clouds, up and above, building. Parting ways, ever so kwikly fo deh sun to pose in the firmaments’ catwalk.

Indoors, in the Boys’ Quarters, shouts and screams. Upstairs, downstairs, about turn, the children are playing. She calmly said to her five year old twins, Ata the boy, and Ataa the girl;

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