I recently fell in love
With stealing intimacy trapped in Times wheel
That I could only glimpse as they rolled by
But could never keep
So I charged myself to mimic time
And trap this moments in my own light
So they share their warmness with me
On nights when with the cold grips not only my feet
Each day I look out for this moments
That stay long enough for us to see
But short to keep
In between trees, on dead leaves
Beside ageless stones, over moody tones
Sights for which my eyes will leap
And invite them into a frame
Where each deserves a name.
Tribute to my recent journey into abstract photography + film
I recently became a content contributor on Dynamic Africa and one of my first assignments was to review Nneka’s new album, My Fairy Tales. I am an active follower of Nneka’s music and this happened to be her second full length project I got to listen too.
It is completely different from Soul is Heavy, not in a lyrical or thematic perspective but from a musical standpoint. She borrows heavy from reggae music and delivers very charged steady songs. I wish I get to see Nneka perform on day but for now, you can read my review here and let me know what you think.
“One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain.” – Bob Marley
I vaguely remember
what it felt like
to be alive.
When every word
that left my pen
Ferocious devouring clans in the shade of dunes.
I remember how
the force used to bubble up inside
like a father filled with pride.
That was when words were creeks
breaking the core rocks
and come to a falling rest
For eyes to treasure and soul digest.
Now I am a shadow
holding on to a swing
rock steady through the silent wind
I can not remember myself
Or the cry of help
I only sit and watch the sunset
Hoping the moon wears a new dress.
Marauding suits speaking in native tongue
Burning fumes, clouding their shame from the sun
Haunting flutes play as the claim they have won
Feeling like pros at the con
Seeing only the pros to their con
Whiles woes load automatic guns
And curl like fros without combs
And shoot hollow domes
Whilst I follow stones
Down poorly lit roads
I have been retreating into depths I am not mentally prepared for. The chest is constantly heavy with weight and Bossa Nova is not soothing enough. I have quit complaining and chosen to adapt.
Is the king really in charge? Or is this the people who put him there who are? Does he feel that he should lead because he sits in the skin. Or that he feel the need to cos just because he has to, he feels the need to achieve. He is hungry for more, and he must outdo himself to get this.
Then what next? How does he choose which path to walk? Which fruit will satisfy him most?
Heavy is the head. My train of thought has cut through the mountains
And is crushing the forest,
Speeding towards to the coast
The tracks are wrapped in unfamiliar grey anthills
And I cannot see the lines
Just the beach
Do I stop study
Or charge through steady.
Mansa dances in sinking sand
Trying to catch the Sun.
I have always been a huge admirer art, history, literature, music – you get the picture. So last Monday I decided to visit the National Museum of Ghana in Accra, Ghana. I went there because I was bored and I needed inspiration. I find it creatively refreshing to be in a different environment or to be surrounded by inspiring people or articles. The National Museum has been around for as long as Ghana has been independent, yet being a Ghanaian living in Ghana all my life, I have never heard much about it. The Kwame Nkrumah Mausoleum is far more popular than this is. I cannot explain why that is but I can speculate. Are Ghanaian selectively interested in just some aspects of their culture and history and not the whole? Well, that is not the focus of my post. Scope of Gallery
There was so much history and art on not just Ghana, but the whole world on display! I was absolutely shocked circling the artefacts in the galleries. I found mosaic from Carthage, Ife Bronze statues from Nigeria, Actual human remains from archaeological digs in Ghana, terra-cotta figurines, ritual dolls, contemporary art pieces, hand carved masks from La Cote D’Ivoire, etc. I did not know how to react to it.
When I got there, I thought it was closed. The place was dead quiet. I spent about two hours and all I could kept on hearing was the occasional chatter of the employees. No one else came in and from the looks of things, it did not seem like the museum is heavily patronized. However, that did not deter me from enjoy the art and learning my history. I was sad not to know a lot about the history of Ghana, despite having studied history of Africa and Ghana at a point in time in my life. There is just so much out there, that is ours and we should be proud of.
I used to be one of the people who did not see the importance of history. Well, I would kindly like to educate you should you fall in this group. History instills in the people a sense of national pride. Pause! This is not theoretical but very practical. Let’s consider the United States of America. I don’t think anyone is ignorant of the sense of pride Americans derive from being American. This is all because of how they have celebrated their history, making every citizen respects that history and want be a part of the history.
Now why can’t Ghanaians adopt that? We have successfully imitated their eating and dressing habits but why can’t we learn to be proud of our history just as they are? Please, let’s take interest in our history and culture, so we can be inspired and motivated by it.
I managed to chance upon an art exhibition by contemporary Ghanaian artist. The collection consisted of paintings by Ablade Glover, Amon Kotei, Kobina Bucknor and other prominent Ghanaian artist. I honestly do not know what to say about this. My pictures may be able to describe the richness of the art but certainly not the experience. Art is life and the exhibition confirmed Ghanaians are marvelous at art.
Should you happen to be in Accra, try to visit the museum. You might learn something you never knew. Please be proud of your history!
<Written by Hakeem Adam
Photography by Hakeem Adam/>.
One day I just wake up and realize that I’m just a mass floating around. Being pushed and shoved aimlessly by systems and institutions. Kneaded and molded by experience. Skilled in the art of being skill-less. Learning to forget. Applying to the dead.
One day I look outside and see the vibrant, seamless grass with shadows lounging on them. The luminescent, falling sun prying through the cracks of silhouetted leaves. I feel the sunshine caress my labored skin, and cool refreshing breeze calm my disarrayed soul.
I open my eyes and try to resist the urge to floa…….