A multidisciplinary creative thinker with interests spanning poetry, technology, and personal growth.
Currently a student and an avid debater, he blends analytical rigor with emotional insight in his work.
He’s committed to continuous learning, self-discipline, and meaningful expression across both digital and artistic domains.
“What’s the name of the Sankofa bird?” – Ancestors Answer Me
Welcome home by Osibisa
Welcome home by Osibisa
I hear the foreigners
who brought us their father and son,
to show us the way…
now pray to the trees and sky.
And so I pray.
I spill my drinks to the ground,
Asaase Yaa convulses:
“How long it has been
Since my children quenched my thirst.”
“Called out my name?”
“How long since I heard them sing the songs I taught?”
Out of her belly gushes a twisted child
Wrapped in wild wailings
and chains of gold.
He cries,
In tongues a mother had cut,
so the white man could march on.
Murder hidden behind the name of ghosts and sons nailed to odum crosses.
Mothers cry for their lost sons
Breaking their nails on hard ground as they dig for fallen teeth
Fathers denounce the foreign gods,
Who rename their sons and burn their homes.
Good sons return with new tongues.
Prodigal sons don’t come home.
I bend over to kiss her on her lips.
I spill my drink.
The sky calls me by our name.
Kwame.
“Make a list of all the things you no longer remember.”
“One cannot forget what they were not taught.”
The trees whistle their disapproval.
This time, I pour to her.
A Mother’s voice carries the wisdom of the dead.
But she lies still
The trees bicker with one another
“She died of thirst.”
“She choked on the blood of her children.”
“Some said she died of her torn heart.”
We’ve never been close enough to tell.
…
“Who will sing at her funeral?”
“Even her dirges, you have buried in her womb.”
“How do we save
when we threw all our tools to the sea?”
“How do we hope
When all we’ve lived is despair?”
