Tag Archives: poetry

The Last Supper


Before the evening ended a man walked away from the money. The man without conscience built a wall around his heart and stayed with the madness.

A man blinded by greed can mislead an entire business. A man driven by compassion can inspire a whole nation. The one who has no purpose in life is not worthy of consideration.

Still, who has compassion for those who wait to see where destruction will fall before they’re spurred into action.

Still, who cares for those who count money in a den of thieves, and pretend they are innocent.

A man must know where he stands. He must safeguard his identity before calamity strikes him.

I hear when calamity comes knocking on a door it comes without kindness. And when the door slams shut on one’s freedom, no one cares about past successes. So when there is no where else to turn, perhaps, a dog, too, retches.

Greed cannibalizes greed! Greed takes you higher. Overstep its quarter and soon it burns like hell’s fire, until it burns itself up!

So let us speak like men. Let us speak like real men. You know what happened, don’t you?

Someone paved your destruction. Someone squashed your ambition. Someone changed that equilibrium, and caused you to fall flat on your face.

And who can that someone be?

It was I. It was I.

I was that someone.

No, that could not be, you say. Why? Am I not the perfect man?

No, I am not a perfect man, I reply. Who amongst us is perfect?

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A Cry of Freedom – If I were a Slave

A Cry Of Freedom

A Cry Of Freedom

By Francis Anthony Govia

If I were a slave, work would never be completed. No purpose would ever be achieved. I would take no orders.

If I were a slave, no man would be my master. No thoughts would be inspired by me. No vision of mine would ever take form.

If I were a slave I would not propagate. I would not agitate for any cause. There would be no ideas, no values, no commitments for which I could live.

But what if I were a free man?

As a free man my labor is bountiful. My vision is limitless. My energy is sustainable, and my aspirations are unrivaled. Yet, my use to a society founded on the principles of exploitation may still be zero.

And there is the source of my dilemma. For I who wish to love, live, propagate and aspire to more than I have been given must accept the fate that I must exist as partly slave and partly free man.

And he who wishes to capitalize from my existence must appear to be a benefactor of my freedom.


A Cry of Freedom was painted in acrylic on canvas by Ghanaian artist Desmond Boamah.

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The Lazarus Poem

By Francis Anthony Govia

I have to do something.

People say if you are not doing anything you die.
I died a timely death long time ago
and now I am living on borrowed time.

I think I was resurrected after four days the last time I died
so now I must get busy before I die again.

I wrote a poem today. It means nothing. It says nothing.
I was just trying to stay alive.
I don’t know if Jesus is coming this way again and my sleep is deep.
Martha left me and Mary won’t plead my case.

Last time I died the dog peed on my grave.

Muffin Puffins

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