In the corridor of time
I peeped through the keyhole of 2099.
The television said the nuclear war might be tomorrow
The radio said,
The globe has warmed up
And the North Pole has melted away
The phone said to the man with it,
Evacuate!

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I lie in a hospital bed;
No name to my face,
Abandoned babe,
Small and skinny,
Disease infested
Death knocking-
You stop,
Stare
Move on.
But I doubt you’ll forget a face like mine.

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It’s a new era,
Drums roll,
Curtains follow,
No more type writers;
They are in the gutters.
No more desktops;
In the queue are laptops.
We have I –pads;
We have note pads.
But after the I -pads what  next?
We will use the wind to send a text!
Just like blowing a kiss!

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Poetry Doesn't Stop For Us

abena

Abena Koomson, BNN and Roshnie Moomsmay at African Writers Symposium, Johannesburg

Samuka Island, Jinja.: Poet's Paradise.

Copyright © BN Poetry Award 2013. All rights reserved.