My name is Godfred Enyan, but I’m popularly known as King Sobada from Ghana. I have a BSc in Administration with a focus on Public Administration from the University of Ghana.
I am a young Ghanaian using music as an advocacy tool to raise awareness about gender equality and women’s…
If you had told me a decade ago that I’d become a voice of creative influence in Uganda—while raising two sons, surviving the chaos of post production, and working on studying human rights law in Japan—I probably would’ve laughed, spilled tea on your shoes, and gone back to sketching…
“The world doesn’t revolve around you.” –
A phrase that clings
like stubborn gum to the back of my pants.
Its presence numbs, its toxicity stains,
leaving me to tremble in a futile struggle.
Fingers wearily try, way too hard, to peel it away,
but others notice the hue from afar,
under their unspoken radar.
I keep…
Imagine this… a wide, clear blue African sky above you with the horizon that disappears behind the green hills and mountains, in a village filled with old, interesting stories passed down through generations. This is where I come from. My roots are fixed deep in the red most fertile…
The wheels rolling unstoppable as time passes by,
There in with different souls as passersby,
Each soul a beauty, a specialty in tow,
Leaving colors splattered where spirit glows.
The good old memories, their sweetness clear,
As fresh as an untainted atmosphere,
The chatters, bickers of love we embrace
Lived through seasons in time and space.
Chapters…
But love, I am so tired.
The betrayal sits inside me
like an elephant on my chest.
Every fight drags it deeper
not just the infidelity, the lies,
But the why.
Why her? Why them?
Was it my body? My brokenness?
Was I not enough, or was she the dream
You couldn’t resist?
I see her face sometimes,
A ghost…
Sometimes I wonder what’s wrong with me.
Do these words come from my heart or my mind?
Each time they spill, I flinch,
shocked by the stranger inside my skin.
I keep finding pieces of myself I never knew existed,
fragments so jagged, so cruel,
I would bury them in the ocean if I could.
Is…
Weightless Gift nu Azwi-Hilton
Upon an ovoid hill, the still silence broke,
Where love once hung beneath the oak,
Not for applause, nor pride, nor fame,
But for the lost, He bore the flame.
No crown of gold, but spiky thorns instead.
No royal robe, but raw wounds that bled.
The hands that shaped the stars…