Category Archives: Poems



Between once upon a time and happily ever after, my words fill the void. Yes, I am the creator; a sub-creator of the All-creator. My words create joy, ecstasy, pain, reflections and hope. I am a jack of all trades. I architect my words like an architect architects his dream house. I doctor my words to sooth like a doctor doctors a patient back to life. I engineer words to cause heightened wonder and awe like an engineer engineers a high-rise building. I preach my words to touch the depth of hearts and souls like a preacher preaches without mincing words. You can call me a chameleon because I take on many forms; I am a lover, hapless romantic, story teller, mystic, fortune teller, angel of doom, thinker and philosopher. Between once upon a time and happily ever after, I decide who lives and dies. I choose who gets to get the last laugh and my audience have little choice but to accept the fate I have tailored just like a tailor tailors the emperor’s new clothes. Between once upon a time and happily ever after, I play God with my pen and in that glorious moment, my pen is mightier than any sword. Between once upon a time and happily ever after, I am not just a storyteller, a writer or poet, rather I am an analyst, a strategist and my notepad is my war room where I move my pieces at will like a puppeteer puppeteers his favourite puppet. Between once upon a time and happily ever after, I am the general and I am second to none. Some call me poet, others call me writer but in theory, I am jury, judge and punisher. I am a proud writer because the power I wield is unmatched. Between once upon a time and happily ever after, I would keep you glued to your seat and leave you wanting more and more….




The sun is scorching. It is typical in our part of the world. Today, the heat is unbearable; it is at an all- time high. Other parts of the world are gearing up for the cold. Well, same cannot be said of our part of the globe. We are lashed by rays of heat; unimaginable heat. On this busy road, activities are taking place. The passengers in the commercial vehicle are using whatever means they can to get ‘additional’ air as they sit cramped shoulder to shoulder in the hot and rickety bus. The blind beggar is singing her tunes in a bid to get some munificence from impatient, sweaty passengers who cannot wait to get to their destinations in the midst of the endless traffic. The passenger in the front seat puts his hand in his pocket in hopes of helping; he pulls out a note. He notes the times we are in; two weeks to pay day. He retracts the action and shakes his head. The handkerchief seller, under the mercy of the hot sun, is sweating profusely. His plight is a classic example to humbly but in a funny way remind us that, “Possession is not the same as ownership”. The government is on the radio and as usually, they are announcing ‘unseen’ monumental developmental projects. The little baby is crying. Its throat is in need of succour; the mother is woken up from her slumber by an older woman and is scolded for neglecting the “future president”. The graphic seller is busy showing off the appetizing front pages of the graphic he has in his hands to attract curious buyers. This might not be his day, maybe this vehicle has no occupants who are in need of ‘brain food’ at the moment. It is getting hotter by the second, the only school boy in the bus is wearing a crumpled school uniform. There seems to be an interviewee in the bus, he is wiping the sweat that has gathered on his brow with his already wet and dirty handkerchief. The sweat has trickled down unto his brown envelopes. This is not the time and continent to be clad in a full piece suit at this time of the day. In the midst of all this, we hope. We hope for brighter ‘tomorrows’ if there is any such thing in our part of the world. We hope for better health care, better educational systems not the ones inherited from tattered lecture notes of dead professors, we hope for better jobs and with it, better remunerations so that even in this hot bus, the journey to the bank on glorious pay day will be worth every little sweat. We hope for human angels to grace our part of the world. But till then, we will keep fighting on. We will do the best we can, to put smiles on the faces we care about. Hard it may seem; better still, hard it is. But we press on despite the odds. I need not remind you but, in this rubble we may appear to be, but still; we rise. My name is Edwin Oko Lamptey and this is just a RANDOM AFRICAN THOUGHT. MORE AT