It felt like dead roses,
Until the corrosive spat of the wind
Washed itself on the dark wall of delight.
now turned into a turmoil of gaze.
A calotype of pain
Cleaving hard unto a mist of a radiant gloom.
The bells rang,
Pointing up to the sky
Frozen by midday.
Shadows of night pleaders wait
Behind the windows of thought.
A foamy sovereignty of wisdom,
A stream flowing through an
A stare from the loops of discernment
Just like an ocean of lust
Dribbling from the cold cavities of her chest.
Between always and never,
the night turned into an amity of truth.
With the heaven craving for a song.
PRISCILLA NUEKI QUARSHIE.
Priscilla Nueki Quarshie is a promising Ghanaian poetess who is not only passionate about poetry and literature but also about beadworks. Her quill met the art and deeply fell for it right in secondary school when she was invited to a spontaneous poetry contest by a poet friend.
To Nueki, poetry can best be defined as a shield for solace and the only answer to solitude. The young poetess, whose ink is getting wetter and more potent by the minute, has to her credit a number of poems, including “The Black Saint” and “I Killed Mama At Dawn”. Her maiden poem, “The Incubus”, attracted a large readership and thunderous applauses from litterateurs and lovers of the art.