A solo wilderness

with a whirling wind, he sweeps
value across the floor with
a cold breathe

moving his eyes,
orbiting them around life's chessboard
you can see he slowly moves to
were the sleeping dead lie

the world begins to neigh,
no one behind,
a lethal passage he awaits,
in the Nile of his destiny
the sky moaning with night,
the wind, groaning,
as they try to regurgitate the
frisky fogs behind him,
the stars, dimming at his utterance

as if there existed a glumly acapella,
you could hear the songs of the shadows
whispering desperately in the dejected
desert of his mind,
in him, lay a soul crying to get out of the grave,
hopelessness runs after him to sing
the final solo of pain,
stretching his spleen in playful agony

you can hear the songs of shadows
shouting right before him,
as he now droops his head into
the impending guillotine darkness.
                                                                By Kakraba Afful