The world's a tennis court

The world is a parted rectangular lawn
With two gentlemen apart,
One at a side
And the other at another side;
Each man born a conqueror;
Has his ways bounded by oppositions,
The prime enemy, the net, being a perilous barrier.
At the wars, every incoming ball is a challenging instance.
But Whosoever learns to win before the war,
Counters defeat ―holds a greater fraction to his destiny.

There may be traitors ―a racket broken to the enemy's advantage.
And the inner man ―the confidence within,
Whose zeal in any day could die like a melting butter.

When rallies come long,
These feet may tremble
With the arm hardened like wax.
But do not give up so soon.
Should you seek a favorable wall to lean upon?
Not the lines men nor the fallible umpire ―our greatest betrayal.
Who by external influence may foul the virtue of fidelity.
No matter how beautiful the swings seem,
In no case will all commendations be handsome and pleasing.
There's always one man with a scornful applause in the stands.

Is the arm broken?
Stiff and hardening like wax?
Unable to make the ace?
Like death, this is how injury comes
Exiting us from this rectangular field
Of spins
Of volleys
Of slices
Of adversaries
Of beautiful swings and aces.
This is how death comes;
Vainly plucking our unripened dreams.
This is how death comes;
Game―
Set―
And a sorrowful match.


© Awuah Mainoo Gabriel
African Spear

When you see the African abroad

When you see the collier’s son abroad,

With his pigment like your heart

Pardon, pardon, sir!

Do not show him, the gun.

Do not let him know

That both skins are different potteries of one God,

Just tell him;

Both are also the fetuses of mid winter’s joy

Else he may abhor his pride.

When you see the collier’s son abroad

Do not be too witty on him

Else you’ll become a fool.

You may give him the shovel for vain labor

Aftermath if he’s still stronger than you,

Do not keep him as gold

Neither should you tell him to come home

Just say to him;

Afro boy ―your footprints have gathered flames.

A moment by the river side

When mi life hath seen enough of tormenting betrayals

I’ll prefer to sit on the foamy rocks

B’neath the nature paradise

There, where the clement rivers doth cure,

And watch the healing crystal waters delightfully bend

And sometimes, I’d love th’ rivers to solemnly curve along

With th’ pallidness of my soul

Moping each scar of love denied.

Halt you waters―Thou may hear mi tragic tale,

“I’ve loved with such an infinite heart like you waters,

Friends counsels were― but a sweet bane

Father’s warmness was―but a titanic storm

Folks, thy promises were―but a never-born sun,

Dim, dead and rotten in thy “D” figured paunch vault.

So me, Mainoo, an endowed star like me;

When denials hath become a shadow b’neath my good name

Should the fine light

 Of my glistening boon soon be vainly gone?

Hold me Ghana, Africa― I am the light in thy gloom,

So you see, Mi flowing friend

Every man’s life is his own war,

The kin is―but a liability

Our loved ones are―but our greatest weaknesses”

Nature may I be thy eternal companion?

In you I confidently confine in.

As I steal a silent ear,

I find life’s music in thy miming.

See, the airy flight there’s pleasure in their gildings.

 The unflagging hangers, life is beautiful b’neath those trees.

Thy boundlessness hath taught me of man’s eternal war,

And in thy music I find my triumph song.

 Somewhere th’ estuary where th’ ocean and tide gladly merge,

Such gesture has eagerly taught me to reconcile.

And at thy tributary, If you were a small stream,

 You’d reluctantly flow into a Lethe so grand!  

Such gesture too hath taught me of man’s exile.

Teacher!

 Until a long eve comes twice to me this day;

I shall be strong

I shall be strong!