Poetra Ama Asantewa Diaka is as a young and combative Ghanaian artist, living between the African country and the US. She doesn’t want to be boxed into the definition of “poet” or “writer” – she rather describes herself as a “storyteller“, since the term “encompasses all the ways she can tell a story” – as…
Acholi Chants
Alokolum yee!Where we sitKnit table clothesThese days we chant dirges in EnglishAcholi has become too difficultWe speak Acholi with a twang like we are speaking English The English do not chant dirges in AcholiThe English do not speak AcholiBut us, we speak English like we are eating sweet potatoes No one can defeat usWe defeat…
Her Place
Her place was in a four-walled room called kitchen Broken dishes were the order of the day She had mastered the scents of the various nail breaking dish washing liquids she struggled with every time she tried to scrub the dirt away In this kitchen She was brought down to the level of a dishwasher…
Y’All Hear Me?
I know I will die on a cold winter morning. Winter withers me so it’s only fair that I believe my well worn weathered body Will wilt on such a day. Wrap me well, warmly. It’s the least you can do for a tropical wench Who died in a witheringly cold world. I will require…
(Blue) for Sudan
(1) Clutched my heart a terrible invasive grief. One of my father’s calling my skin its own, as it shed cries of mercy. Of a divine pardon. Of an outpouring rahma* to reach the lives lost to the march. Mourning settled in the veins. Of a country that bled in each corner, wounded dreams of…
Remember The Days, Big Butt?
I remember the days when they called me Big Butt, imitated my walk, and stared. “Do you walk like that on purpose?” Today, they hold the titles for the biggest butts in show business, Australia, the world. The day they smelled chocolate. I said it was cocoa butter and they exclaimed, “Why would you put…
Take me to the river
We say “take me to the river”but what the river wants is the body of a stonethe kind of stillness that can be worn.It runs from its destructive natureand we run to its healing waters. What the mouth wants is wetnessa torrent of forgivenessto baptise flesh with abandon. We sing of the rivers of Babylonand…
The Honey Pot
Amina soaps up her breasts, her thighs and her derriere Amina squats and washes her honey pot it doesn’t produce much honey these days Amina washes the suds from her hair and skin She has used the expensive rose-scented bath oil that Fiifi gave to her on her birthday He likes it Amina dries herself…
The 3rd
1- My rebelliousness cowered at the sound of bullets and teargas. 2- I stood behind my parents words and their fear of losing me in the mess. 3- Collapsing needs one to be standing.. but I was already lying down when my mother called to tell me about the news she was watching on TV….