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.

Photo by Solomon Darko Kyeremah, Poem inspired by Miss Enyo