My boots are from Mom
they’ve been to church, heard prayers and been a mediator for other shoes. My pair of boots has been compared to others, received praise and clamped with pride by the lace.
At one point in Agbogbloshie
these boots suffocated at the pungent stench from the Korle lagoon, fled to the filthy streets, despised by kwashey boys and trodden by Kayayei. My boots missed hurricane Nii Lante, never again.
Erstwhile in Tamale
gravels crunched under my boots and cringed when the pair went high in a photo shoot. These boots have not been spared drips from Muna’s Ayoyo when I first attempted TZ in Vitting.
My boots reflect Me
in the forthcoming elections my boots will reiterate democratic rhetoric.They’ll traverse political platforms and march for accountability, justice and youth power. My boots will know peace.