Survived Poem by Jacob Kobina Ayiah Mensah

And last night in a bustling shopping
district in Seoul when Professor X had died and Congo
was dying in Goma without trade marks, I was
following you as a passerby, you tall, slim, carrying
shoulder length wavy hair and large breasts,
to close up the differences between you and me
behind the crowds you torn apart in your catwalk,
I hid myself from making one step to another.
Anyway, did you see me amongst the blackberries?
I knew from the very beginning that you hated
my identity and you were no ready to replace me
in the thousand steps we crossed. That was why I shielded
my face with a newspaper to chamber myself
from the woman from Kosovo, almost like you, who was
keeping her magnet on me. Though I was still
your Stygian we moved in staccato, should I oxidise
my heart so that you'd earn a high price for the action?
My consortia were dividing Israel for you and I,
and awarding all ex-fighters of 2nd World War.
So when will you stop for me to see your face, woman,
and probably, say 'Hello madam? 'And add, maybe,
'How does it feel like falling in love? 'I know
somewhere around the terra cotta churchhouse,
I'm a slow swimmer but I keep close
to the bottom in coastal waters. But you replied,
'Pekinese, may I hear you now. Hurry up. No negotiation.'
Holding my neckline all the time, I said,
'Caesar is still resting in his grave.' But the typhoon
swallowed us, I held your right hand because I was
Neapolitan this time around, we were eating our popcorn in silence
on the cold beach; it was almost 4: 30 am and two
yellow birds were crossing the sea.