TO SUMMER... A BEAUTIFUL AFFAIR

I can see a white beach,
The sands as pure, as breath taking as a newborn's smile and cry...

I flirt with the idea of holding your hand,
Being lifted up off the ground, so that my longing lips meet yours in a mind-wrecking explosion...

I laugh.
I laugh my heart out till I cry.
Because in you , 'Summer', I've found a peculiar joy.

Even as I whispered harmless rhymes to you at night;
Over the phone,
Beneath the lamp-post's seductive aura of soft light...

My girlish imagination toyed with the idea of being in your arms;
You caressed my cheeks,
You stroked my hair,
You smoothed those masculine fingers down my hips...

Oh! Summer!
I blush, even at the thought of it all,
So that my cheeks burn as hot and as bright as your companion;
the sun.

Then I go to bed each hot Summer's night;
My body burning from your heat,
Yet I wish that the heat was initiated by your warm kisses on my neck and bosom...

A heat, escalated by your own dear presence beside me;
As we turn over the questions in our heads:

"Should I ask Summer to stay?"
OR
"Should I give way to 'Cold Autumn'?"

"Should I ask her to pick berries from my stock?"
OR
"Should I let her go?"

Truth is,
I love Summer.
I'd like to experience the fusion of us two,
For my star is Aries as fiery as your sun.
Then I'd love to play with your leaves,
Imagine them to be your gorgeous hair.

Then I'd love for you, Summer, to devour me, as though
You were a wicked forest fire, ravishing any beautiful maple or weeping willow in its path.

Then, finally, we'd resurface and lay- body to heart and heart to soul-

And I'd awake upon the beach,
wishing that you'd look at me, the way you look at the picturesque picnic lay-out that you've set for us two,
Kindred spirits, near the
rolling waters that wash away my fantasy...

On a hot Summer's evening.

[It was definitely a beautiful affair, while it lasted.]

APIORKOR .S. ASHONG

TO FORSAKEN LOVE... FAIRYTALE

I once walked upon a red carpet.
I was surrounded by pink, yellow, blue, red... A garden of flowers.

And adorning my neck was a piece of diamonds and rubies and gold.
My hair was coloured with the most delicate of water lilies; white to signify purity and happiness.
My fingers dazzled in the sun- kissed breeze.
And my feet were oiled with a sweetly- scented parfum.
A dress of silk and honey- yellow clasped my frame;
I felt beautiful and I believed I looked beautiful.

The crown of it all was not my glistening tiara, but the Halo that encased my heart.
The one that HE placed there.
He LOVED me... or at least I thought he did.

My heart was ripe for him and he plucked it. He embalmed it with his healing salve.
And my wounds were soothed,
and they got better, gradually, until no scars remained...

And then, I was happy again.

At that point I should have been snapped back into reality.
I should have lost all vulnerabilities to you,
I should have lost all dependency upon you.

But I was a fool!
I let my guard down and I became a simpleton.

For it was at that very point that you began to imprint a deeper, redder, more painful wound upon my heart.
And now, a GAPING hole is what I have to show for a FAIRYTALE Romance.

Now, all I have is memories.
No more necklaces.
No more flowers.
No more sun.
No more tiaras.
No more lilies.
No more dresses or delicate parfums and oils.
No more love.
No more passion...

I do not regret, ever welcoming you into my life, my world, my very being!

But, Oh!
How I wish our FAIRYTALE could have remained as such!

For my heart, it once beat for you.
And it now bleeds for the lack of you.

I pray you remain Happy and Blessed.
For I love you and wouldn't pray for anything less.

Yet, you must know that for every drop of blood that escapes my battered heart;
You will receive a grave punishment, from APHRODITE, the good goddess of love...

APIORKOR .S. ASHONG

TO ZANE... BORN OF A WAVE OF EMOTION

Light that candle, my love...For it is only when you do, that you shall be able to decipher, ever so clearly, just how luminous our love becomes when it is ignited:

Tis rather strange.
I awoke this morning with a distinct yearning for you;
With an inexplicable intoxication of my senses - you were there.
Yet, you were not there.
I was confused.

So, born of a wave of intense emotion, is a song for you;
A song that I have continued to sing to you over the years.
A song that has tickled your ears, coming in the form of a different language every time.

And yet, the lyrics remain as sweet as the fruits of Eden,
As POISONOUS and as MURDEROUS as a woman's love for her man could be...

Yes, this song has told you of many things:
Never forget, my love, the overwhelming burning sensation that has often encased your very being via my song;
Cast your mind back to the voluminous scars, that the sensation left behind as it
scalded your forehead,
scalded the soles of your feet,
scalded your smooth, dark, beautiful skin,
scalded your groin...YES
Cast your mind back to the voluminous scars, that this burning sensation created, with every vow of the genuine love of the one that you claim to love; and pay particular attention to the one lonesome bruise, that lies deep within your bosom, the centre of your love for her.

Yes, this song has told you of many things:
Recall, my dear, each astonishingly vivid mental image that my tune has ever engraved upon your mind's eye.
Ruminate on the sweet pain, that those images of
the luscious breasts,
the ample hips and thighs,
the lips ablaze from your fiery kisses,
the warm nakedness of the one you claim to love...YES
Ruminate on the sweet pain, that those images have put you through.
For, you loved to feast your eyes upon those images, even as they initiated a sudden, painful rushing of blood within you.

Yes, this song has told you of many things:
Reminisce, for dear life and love, each distinct moment of passion and arousal that you've so willingly shared with the one you claim to love, as she laid her melody, thick as honey deep within your left and right ear canals.
Get re- acquainted with those moments, during which
You never took your eyes off of her, as she entered the room,
You undressed her with your eyes, You moaned and groaned at the very caress of her finger tips,
You clasped her hips firmly, adjoining it to your groin,
You felt her breath in your ear, along with the melody,
You rid her of every article of clothing,
You kissed every nook and cranny of her aroused body,
You picked her up, and placed her on a bed of red and black silk, colours as POISONOUS as she
You milked her,
You explored her body with your hands, and tongue...YES
Get re- acquainted with those moments, during which, like a predator does to its prey, you nudged her bosom, you tickled her nipples with your tongue, you savoured the feel of her BURNING flesh against yours, so that you both melted to become one...
But pay particular attention to the powerful olfactory imagery of the smell of her shampoo as you held her earlobe between your teeth; the scent of her dew- garden that pricked at your nose, as you entered her;
the fragrance of the liquid that poured from her pores, as you drove her to a mind-wrecking climax:
Each instance shall remain with her for all time.
Tis rather strange.
I awoke this morning with a song for you;
The words creating a quiver on my lips...

My love, as you make an effort to cast your mind back,as you ruminate on the sweet pain,
As you get re- acquainted with those erotic, erupting, volcanic moments...
Keep that candle a-kindle, my love...
For I handed it to you, as I lavished you with the very first notes of my dynamic song;

And when I did, I knew that it is only when you light it,
that you shall be able to decipher, ever so clearly, just how luminous our love becomes when it is ignited:

Because, that candle burned unceasingly in our first spasms of erotic passion.

APIORKOR .S. ASHONG

WHEN WORDS WIN YOU OVER

To almost anyone, who is not 'fluent with a pen', writing remains a complete mystery; one that is impossible to unravel. On the other hand, for those of us that have become disciples of diction- of words- being able to put strokes of ink upon paper is a rare gift. A gift that affords us the opportunity to escape into a world so different from the one that we wake up to each morning, by God's gracious making. A gift that enables us to express ourselves in a medium void of judgement and ridicule. A gift that, really and truly, permits us to explore our inner identity, whilst we gather the courage and confidence, needed, to share the core of our very being with others...

As a girl, I had always longed to be a great writer. I wanted to be able to write a piece in ten minutes tops. I wished that I would be able to exercise enough discipline, that I could chronicle my thoughts and emotions. I needed to be a part of that awesome literary world. I resolved that, with time, I would possess enough strength, as a writer, in order to be in the position to impart knowledge unto other people, to convey powerful messages to world, via the potency of diction itself.

And not only did I sit and daydream of these things. In a bid to realise my fantastical ideas (which they seemed to be, at the time) I worked hard. I read books, journals, letters, my Bible, I read and still do read my dictionary; committing to memory five to ten words daily. Above all, I practised. Just as a well acclaimed musician works at her violin, or as a jockey, constantly, rides his horse hard, I went all out, where my writing was concerned. I would create short stories and then ask my parents to read them over. I wrote poetry, made scripts of drama pieces. All I ever wanted to do was be an artist; I wanted to paint pictures, by employing words...

I can vividly recall the day that I became absolutely, downright smitten with words. I have always loved the beach- the soft, yet coarse, damp sand tickling my feet; the vast oceans in their seemingly endless entirety; the subtle, often harsh sea breeze upon my face; and oh, the lighting! Be it a sun kissed beach, or a moonlit one- even at a tender age, the beach always put me in the best of moods. And I would soon come to a realisation that those very sands and waters shall be my inspiration to write any piece at all. They would be the single, collaborating cure for my writer's block, any day, any time.

I was five months into my fourteenth year, my older cousin took my sisters, other cousins and I to one of Ghana's beaches. As usual, I was in awe, when I took in the setting. The breeze caught the scarf on my head, the salty waters glistened, as though tiny gems had been dispersed upon the big sea's surface. I threw off my sandals, walked to a spot on the sand, about 15ft away from everyone else. I sat, not even bothering to lay out my blanket first. I pulled out a homework book from my canvas bag, then a pencil (I always preferred to do my math in pencil). I began my work, moving at a steady pace...

As I write, I am still unsure of what came over me at that moment on the beach, on that September morning. All I can remember is watching my math book close. My little 'writing diary', as I had called it, lay on my lap now, my pencil remained in my hand. And I wrote ten poems at a go! If I felt tired, or lazy, all I had to do was look out, towards the ocean before me- and then I was re energised at once!

The feeling was inexplicable. I lost track of everything around me, save my book and my pencil. Suddenly, I understood myself better and I was ready to depict me, to share my thoughts, perceptions, opinions and emotions with other people. I felt liberated. I had discovered a new medium of expression...

This is what happens, when words win you over. You do not become a slave to words, no. On the contrary, you gain possession of the power that equips you with the required skill, that you can now arrange and rearrange words. You can tailor a group of words to suit the context, in which you wish to speak. You have command over the Language. All of this is really as a result of one bold, courageous step. Yes, it does take courage to write. When you are immersed in what you are writing, you no longer have control over what you are communicating to your readers, because your emotions, ideas and all those other things that you are putting into manuscript, they wash over you and breathe life into the vocabulary, into the diction, into the words. For that matter, your soul is bared for all to see. Now tell me I am wrong in saying that, one needs to be extremely courageous, in order to allow this to happen.

Hence, we can say that, when words win you over, your psyche- your state of mind- is greatly affected, because your conscious mind gives way to the sub conscious and this is why we say that writing takes you into another realm, where self-expression means pouring your heart out incessantly. This is especially true of poetic writing.

In short, writing is like love; it is hard for anyone to decipher the chemistry that exists between people, who love each other. One remains a stranger to love and love a stranger to one, until the one in question discovers love with another. You can only truly solve the mystery of writing, when you begin to speak the language of a writer: And that, my friends, will be the very point at which words will win you over.

APIORKOR .S. ASHONG