Cover Photo of The Ultimate Wonder by Skywalker Storyteller
Cover Photo of The Ultimate Wonder by Skywalker Storyteller

Death is a haunting and rarely discussed topic. To man, it is the end of a phase or life here on Earth. But is this really so? Have we taken a moment to pause and reflect on death, the way we want to embrace this inescapable moment? In her book, “The Ultimate Wonder—World Stories Illuminating Death,” Skywalker has taken the giant step to write about this end she aptly calls The Ultimate Wonder.

Served with a preliminary introduction where she, in a concise manner, tells of her view about death from both personal and religious perspectives, one can’t help but read further and keenly too. Segmented into various parts, the short stories within take place in various parts of the world and at various times. I found some of these stories so moving, they stayed with me for days. A few examples are “Kenelinda” and “A Mother’s heart.”

Until I read Skywalker’s book, I’ve not come across an anthology (of poems and short stories) where death, the central theme, is presented in a rather soothing and enlightening manner. Skywalker’s compilation is a book you can relax to, or even share with family members and friends. Each story is a fountain of gentle words and metaphors meant not only to entertain and inform, but also to prepare man without pain or fear for this end. This ultimate wonder.


For more details on this brilliantly written book, you can visit Skywalker’s site:



Poetry Book Review: Suroor of the Soul

Cover Photo of Suroor of the Soul. Pic source: Amazon
Cover Photo of Suroor of the Soul. Pic source: Amazon

With the various styles and contributions to contemporary poetry, “Suroor of the Soul” makes for an uplifting and fascinating reading. It’s a meticulously sectioned book co-authored by Soumya Vilekar and Shaheen Dhanji; two wonderful poetesses whose love for nature, true happiness, metaphysical knowledge and exploration, soul discovery and its ultimate journey cumulatively amplifies a reader scopes via their poems.

Not short of fine imagery—a few of which are subtle or complex judging by their metaphysical exponent—or verse paragraphs of commendable artistic quality, both poetesses seek to approach their audience in four ways (sections). Section-I gives credence to the soul, its birth, growth and endeavor. A poem from this section that sits nicely with me and I think I’ll still remember for some time to come is The Lost Fawn. A touching narrative, it metaphorically points to man’s journey through life and his interaction with the divine. Section-II is a smooth continuation of the first section where the soul seeks love in others, the failure and heartaches that may come as a result, and then its new purpose to establish a path to true happiness. Section-III is an elaborate  effort via words and rhythm that tells of the soul’s voyage; the quest to discover the divine power—God Himself. This is most evident in a poem like God or Religion, a poem of the mortal and divine dialogues. Section-IV, a conclusive portion, proudly cradles the title of the book. In this section, we are acquainted with the joy and ecstasy the soul goes through at last and about the craving to become the “perfect being” after it must’ve realize the power behind surrendering to the will of its Maker.

Overall, the poetry book does not wish to give the impression that there is a particular religion or channel that can effectively connect man with his Maker or Diviner Ruler. The fact is, however, that both poetesses have recognized that true happiness can indeed be achieved through self-discovery, recognition of real beauty, and exploration of where the soul could possibly reach.

After reading this book, I can say that I now appreciate metaphysics, a branch of philosophy, even more. Also, there is a new sense in poetry presentation and healthy thoughts about religion and spiritualism  that comes with the book.

If you like poetry with a touch metaphysics and insight into spiritualism, true happiness, and religion then this book is for you.

*I have received a free copy of this book in return for a review*





Awoonor: His death, My Response

Oh when the “golden enchanter” and poet leaves what becomes of words and poetry itself? The news of his death has broken me because I have been influenced by his writings. His poems, often difficult, but powerful and mysteriously moving, are predominantly rituals of lament over the “senseless cathedral of doom” which educated Africans have allowed to usurp the shrines of their ancestral gods. As an African, who appreciates African proverbs and proverbs in general, I see the same in Awoonor. His poem, “My Uncle the Diviner-Chieftain,” highlights a Ghanaian proverb that says, “No one prophecies on an empty belly.”

Oh Awoonor, a fine poet and proud African, may your soul rest in perfect peace.

African Soulja

Kofi Awoonor  A day ago, Prof. Kofi Awoonor was shot dead! I have lost a bit of myself for 24 hours.

I knew Kofi Awoonor! I knew him because all poets know each other. I knew him because the spirits of all poets are fellow citizens of one country. His works have stayed with me ever since I first read his acclaimed ‘The Cathedral’. Today, he’s gone, shot by cruel terrorists who ambushed the mall he had walked into in Kenya. Our country has lost a citizen.

Kofi Awoonor has been a mentor. I don’t say this because he is dead; I say it because like me, he was Ghanaian, Ewe and a poet. And like me, he had a story to tell, which he spent his life telling. I listened to him. Nothing can so immediately take away this sorrow I feel.

I reviewed ‘The Cathedral’ and ‘

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Bronze Figurative Sculpture of Man in Struggle
Bronze Figurative Sculpture of Man in Struggle

Look at me:
I’m half man,
half a heart,
the other part
is reeling
on the floor with laughter
while I try to give reason
to what’s left of me to fight.

This pain;
it’s one of the many stings that returns…
Legion that pries me open and rapes my senses
and burns me in agonizing bits

I’m praying,
I’m bleeding
I’m pouring ruby-red regret
on this dying self
I’m screaming, hoarse and untamed,
till they reach the heights above–or if they will

Can You hear me?
Or do You now count me
among the lost and forgotten…
banished to walk
this metal hell of a road?

My God
My tourniquet
let me drink from your salvation’s pool,
to cast upon your white doors
the reflection of a battered soul
In need of the grave,
I dare to close
these misted eyes