Creme De La Creme Poem by Prince Kenny Osei

A hiss, a prank
We may tip-toe with our minds
And pray we become
Not preys to incompetence
At half-moons;
We may lie beside our logs
And proclaim how steeper our fates
are
We may observe with restraint



The moon may become gay
But the tiny-grey hairs
Entwined on the scalp
Of our old men
Shall make us astute
And the femininity
Of the caresses of our women
May satisfy our comforts
The other section of the trodded-roads
May lie negligence, inferiority
But still there shall be
A rubric to plausible


A hiss, a prank
The rains may cry out loud
And our propagated hopes
Amid which the rotten seedlings
May be left to posterity
Yet, we may hope our rows
Remain the first within equals
We may gather our flocks to graze
With their offsprings so attached
To our bleeding hearts
But we may till the deserted land
To bear sufficient harvests


We may sit on raffia,
Interlogged weeds,
And peasants may be
Inscribed to our identities
But we may not wither
Our patience

A hiss, a prank
We may not know
How to get to the stream
But we may know
That water shall find us
We may be condemned,
Spat upon, refuted
But we may lastly know that
We may be strategically placed
To be the Creme de la creme