Dead Leaves Do Not Bring Joy

I have walked these streets but now they lay bare.

They were rarely empty.

They seem to have been conquered by fear.

Imaginations are the new reality.

Beautiful damsels pageant on these streets daily,

an amusement for my buddies and me.

Pageantry is gone, our gazes waste away idly,

and these damsels miss the gaze of my buddies and me.

The horrifying sound of a broken engine on a motorcycle,

dust rising from reckless driving and riding,

and little stones flying to hit my multicolored ankle.

These streets were certainly grinding.

Aunty Adiza was a dreamer, she wanted to be a magician.

I always told her the porridge was magical enough.

She knew the right combinations like a mathematician,

and a dose of her porridge works your senses like a drug though.

I miss Akputo, the dancer of dancers showing off his moves.

His skills were refreshing and unsearchable.

Akputo was schizophrenic but still had moves,

evidence that these streets was undisputable.

Oh I do miss these streets and that is unfortunate.

These streets were my home and joy.

All that is left of it is dead leaves

and dead leaves do not bring joy.

By Komla.says.alot

From: Ghana

Twitter: the_komla