Why I Write Poem by Jamuel Asare

Two stories ago,
I had asked
'What use is my story
if it cannot leave behind a legacy?
If it cannot save me, an invention of breakout semen
from becoming a weak carrion of nihility? '

Today, standing
over an inselberg,
Feet about to be set unconstrained - morning breeze caressing awake the soft vellus hairs that grow from the follicles of my cocoa brown skin.

Something restrains me
Like I am tied up with a rope
just so I wouldn't jump.
Something clings my arms
and pulls me back.
Something gives
me wings.
A story
A story
A story.