Tomorrow

when you are not pretty to turn heads around
or not confident enough to word your thoughts
not smart enough to attend Uxbridge or Harvard
cos of where you were born or raised
yet you still dream of the impossible to be better days
maybe in frank vocabulary, somewhat successful
and even to extend a helping hand
maybe you wont be erased  from history
just as men’s misfortunes are forgotten
in the excitement of new enterprises

when you love to dream big 
and yet you see no light
cos all is but bleak around you
amid flashes of tomorrow
that offer no tap of glee
and suicide somehow is but a haunt
then allow the beauty of nature
to give cheer to every face
and a spring to every step
while birds tweet here and there
and our dreams, a puff of air
and later, with the smell of myrrh

Like the beautiful sunrise and its sunset
perhaps, as the feel of rain or the whiteness of snow 
as the seasons change, and new moons, are bestowed
then, there is hope for a zenith of fame
As the boldness of love aged-couples recap
paints a winsome picture to come
similar to the unconditional love of a mother
then, everything is worth a try
even for the days unknown
and the accents yet unheard

©Flojoe Nsiah Sarbeng

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As Such Is This Realm

There are far too many songs to sing
Too many spectacles to behold
Too many persecutions to encounter
Too many voices to word
Too many pleas to accept
Too many fears to overcome
Too many theories to master

There are far too many praises to give
Too many principles to remember
Too many passions to fulfil
Too many hopes to materialise
Too many budgets to apportion
Too many battles to win
Too many assignments to forget
Too many potentials to discover

Far too many
But as such is this realm,
where whatever that goes up
literarily comes down

Born Again In A Second Language

Had normalcy never lost its course 
The brightest of bright will such a persona be 
Orchestrating an obvious childhood fairytale, into reality 
Maybe he’d be thriving in glee lozenges 
and be eerie than he is now 
Aloneness may be a chosen rubric 
while quiteness, a fostered acronym to relief 
Walking with royalty above the sky’s zenith, 
and latter, slapping hands with prominence where necessary 
Born again in a ‘known’ language 
A first but second language 
Maybe time was irreversible then 
while nature, defiled its promise 
Temporary minor gentry will have been epoch of the recent past 
and the not-so far tomorrows, resilient 
Maybe the familiar circles will have been squared by now 
Without hefty hitches and colossal giveaways 

Somnolence will then reckon with baited breath, 
and procrastination, a fore gone mirage 
Multitudes would have been staring 
with great avidity, 
oblivious to high resume’ acquired 
Had normalcy never transgressed 
Hearts would be spared taunts 
And the break of silence, 
highly invigorating 
Nature would have assumed its mission 
and the sky’s zenith, as usual, 
a footstool for the coming auras 
Anyway, once the heart’s palpitation 
has never retrogressed 
And the Abba, bestows grace 
Destiny should also take its due course 
And should opportunities decide not 
to knock, 
doors will be built 
While the spurt within the minds eye, 
remains forceful but poised 
Born again in a second language