32 to 9: A Letter Across Time
We did it, lil bro, we made it this far,
From torchlight pages to chasing stars.
Those blackout nights taught us to see,
The worlds inside words, the worlds we’d be.
We left the block, we crossed the seas,
Touched places we dreamed of on bended knees.
From Kumasi streets to skies unknown,
The map unfolded, became our own.
Remember Dad’s chair, that steady gaze?
We broke Rambo down, scene by scene, play by play.
From action frames to story spine,
Now we script our worlds, line by line.
We wrote past the essays that put us on lists,
Top twenty in Ghana, but we had more to give.
Now pages stretch longer, fuller, more true,
Ink became rivers we kept walking through.
We made images; faces, Black light divine,
Photographs that linger past the tick of time.
The shutter’s whisper became our hymn,
Frames like prayers stitched into skin.
We lost our brother, our friend, our kin,
Carried their weight but refused to give in.
Grief bent our spine but never broke,
We held on tight to every hope.
We built Arrived, a seed from the ground,
A house for our people, a gathering sound.
We formed Kanea, with vision untamed,
A studio of fire, a legacy named.
So to the boy who read when the night was dark,
Your stubborn light became our spark.
And hear this truth, as old as the sun:
We got Dad to say: “I’m proud of you, son.”
