THE DAY I DIED, A SUNDAY

 

THE DAY I DIED,A SUNDAY

I WAS AN EPITOME OF A MADMAN,

A REFLECTION OF A DRUG ADDICT

FROLICKING ON THE STREETS OF NO WHERE.

THEN I MET HYACINTH, THE ORPHAN

WHO DENIED ME NOT A CUP OF PORRIDGE

AND THE BEAUTY OF SALVATION.

THERE, ON THE STREETS OF NO WHERE

EMERGED A NEW IMAGE OF MYSELF, KOUAME.

I WAS AN ABUSED CHILD, A DESTITUTE DUMB LASS

WHO HID BEHIND DUSTBINS AND NIBBLED ON CRUMBS

IN THE DARK CORNERS OF NO WHERE.

THEN I MET HYACINTH ,THE ORPHAN

WHO DENIED ME NOT A HUG,

THE LOVE OF GOD AND HIS POWER TO HEAL.

THERE, IN THE DARK CORNERS OF NO WHERE

CAME FORTH A NEW ME, EHORNAM.

 

THE DAY I DIED, A SUNDAY

I WAS A FORLORN MAN DIAGNOSED WITH CANCER

WHICH ALL MY RICHES COULD NOT CURE ON THE DEATHBED

OF NO WHERE.

THEN I MET HYACINTH,THE ORPHAN

WHO DENIED ME NOT COMFORT AND THE MESSAGE OF THE CROSS.

THERE, ON THE DEATHBED OF NO WHERE

A NEW BEING  WAS BIRTHED, SEFADZI.