Ghanaian poet and cultural storyteller. He holds a B.A in English from KNUST, where he graduated in 2022. His work explores identity, culture, social consciousness, nature, and sustainability.
In 2025, he won the Adinkra Poetry Prize. His writing has appeared in Brittle Paper, and his poems “Focus on Africa” and “Negro” feature in Of Voices and Movements, an anthology by KNUST’s English Department. “Focus on Africa” is studied by second-year students.
He hosts the Take Um So Podcast and founded BOYS & BOOKS, a literacy-focused book club.
Untitled [speak to me in tongues of fire] – Ancestors Answer Me
Otwereduampong, yɛ kyerɛ wo nsa, yɛmma wo nsa.
Asaase Yaa, receive drink; Nananom abosom ne nsamanfoɔ, receive drink;
When I call to you, I have called all…
Nananom, if you hear my voice today, I am calling to you.
I have come with my Songs of Sorrow, your blood runs in my bones
And your names are buried in my name.
Though I speak in a split tongue, hear me! Listen to neɛ mee ka akyerɛ mo no!
I have not come to ask for A Grain of Wheat, you have taught me how to fish…
I have come to ask: what do I do with this rage, this ache, this anger, this restlessness?
Nananom, Things Fall Apart: The world that was ours is slipping.
There is No Sweetness Here… I carry the fontomfrom, yet its voice cannot pierce the circle of kings.
Nananom, this is not The Yearning of a Grief Child,
although I do not know what to do with This Mournable Body.
This is not The Dilemma of a Ghost, but I am caught between somewhere and here
I’m In The Middle of Nowhere, I don’t have a name, and I am Faceless.
Mariama, wo Bâ, I need to know: how did you hold rage in your mouth and still sing?
My sisters and I have written you So Long a Letter, please pass it to Nana Okigbo
at Heaven’s Gate, tell Kofi Awoonor that we want to return to his Promise of Hope.
We can’t keep up with the Harvest of our dreams.
Nana Kourouma, The Suns of Independence, shines only for the kings who have taken
seats to rule best. For the rest of us, it’s the sun of hunger, silence, and despair.
Osagyefo Kwame Nkrumah, have you seen what is left of the land you fought for?
We cannot find where our mothers buried our umbilical cords and placentas,
Ka kyerɛ wo nua Tetteh Quarshie sɛ, ne cocoa fuo no, ahɔhoɔ
Ne nnɛmafoɔ ɛɛtu no galamsey! Na Akosombo nkanea no?
Wei na ɛbɛ ba a, odum, na w’asɔ, odum, na w’asɔ…We need new light;
A revolution without smoke.
I want to hear the Joys of Mother[s] in the hood, I need The Girl[s] Who Can to stand and win against the narrative that Only Big Bum Bum Matters Tomorrow.
Nananom, Nearly All The Men in Lagos Are Mad. It’s not just Lagos; it’s everywhere.
My brothers are wandering, looking for home in every unfamiliar face.
How do I hold and anchor them without shuddering?
How do I measure the violence, silence, hurt, and fear in the hearts of my sisters?
The Thing Around Your Neck is around ours—in suicide, genocide, homicide, and
man-made pandemics designed to reduce humanity.
While our people are dying, people are profiting off our dead bodies.
The Beautiful Ones Are Not Yet Born, but the mothers are pushing out deformities.
We have Collective Amnesia. I have forgotten the taste of clean water,
the sound of honest birds’ sermons, and the feel of trust.
I fear forgetting, but I dread not remembering.
So I have travelled dusty roads to appear before you. Me kotodwe gu efie abosea so.
While I pour you drink, speak to me, speak through me,
Let’s Tell This Story Properly
Nananom, let me carry your words and wisdom in my ink, write with fire
and passion, so the children of tomorrow can read in flames that burn.
These days, hope and faith is a flickering candle in the wind.
Help us bring sanity and stability back to our world.
Your deaths are not your last duties, you owe us everything…
nti mo ntie me, mo ntie yɛn, mo ntie yɛn…
NOTE AND TRANSLATION
Untitled [speak to me in tongues of fire] is a libation poem and therefore requires the use of certain elements like a glass or bottle of alcohol, gestures, and invocation. This brief note is a guide: With every invocation, the speaker performs a gesture; when calling to Otwereduampong (God), they raise the glass/bottle of alcohol towards the sky. They show God drink, but don’t pour. When calling on Asaase Yaa (Earth Goddess), Nananom Abosom (gods of the land), Nsamanfoɔ (Ancestors) and any other names, they lower their gaze and pour a small amount of alcohol on the ground. At the final invocation and conclusion of the poem, they empty the rest of the drink entirely.
TRANSLATIONS
Otwereduampong, yɛ kyerɛ wo nsa, yɛmma wo nsa. (God, we show you drink, but we don’t offer you drink.) Asaase Yaa (Earth Goddess), Nananom Abosom (gods of the land), Nsamanfoɔ (Ancestors), Nananom (gods & ancestors) Listen to neɛ mee ka akyerɛ mo no! (Listen to what I am telling you!) Mariama, wo Bâ (Mariama, your child) also, Mariama Bâ Ka kyerɛ wo nua Tetteh Quarshie sɛ, ne cocoa fuo no, ahɔhoɔ Ne nnɛmafoɔ ɛɛtu no galamsey! (Tell your brother Tetteh Quarshie that, his cocoa farm is being mined illegally by foreigners and youth of today) Na Akosombo nkanea no? (And the Akosombo electricity?) Wei na ɛbɛ ba a, odum, na w’asɔ, odum, na w’asɔ… (Regardless of who comes to power, there’s always dumsor, intermittent power outages…) Me kotodwe gu efie abosea so. (I am kneeling on courtyard pebbles.) nti mo ntie me, mo ntie yɛn, mo ntie yɛn… (So listen to me, listen to us, listen to us…)
