Dangling, dangling and dangling

My old ceiling fan dangles

Bought some years ago I do not remember even

And now it is old

Though to say, I could sell it

In bits and bits

Not as that of King Solomon

Who will speak wisdom, born in it?

Yes, I know, His wisdom not for sale


Staggering, staggering and staggering

Like a drunkard

Who would be for more pot palm wine

At Mame Akosua door post

AS early as 3:00 AM

Yes, I do see him sometimes

Hm, they are for sale

Yes, so she sells them indeed

Very soon, Agbokpa

Yes Agbokpa, he will be poor

No, a pauper

He will drink in seedtime, slumber in harvest time

Not even Father Abraham would do that

In his days among others

Yes, I know wealth is not for sale


Reckless, useless and extravagant

Like a rich man lifestyle

Yes, often he would

When he thinks all to himself everything is

Where wishes are as commands

Thousand and one slaves’ and still counting

No! In our time

Cars, houses, lands, estates

Do help me continue, would you?

And thinking that all could possible be done in a day

Running, overtaking, in speed and in no time

Yes, but not as that of my Old friend Methuselah

Of course not,

Life is not for sale

Or, yes

Note “Not for sale”

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