The hawk of death
Has caught one of the best chickens of life
What is this confusion that burns
Scribbling minds on hot coals of pain?
What is this shock that stirs
Hearts in reawakening fears of the going?
What is this bell that scares
Fingers holding pens of seers?
Yet this gone’s ink is imprinted on the sands of life
Erasing oblivion, consoling all
A mouth with a voice has travelled through the one gated land
Never to turn back
But we know
If death is ever defeated,
It is done by a writer
If death is ever killed
It sure is done by inks trapped and baptized by recognition
To forever stay
Atukwei you’re taken
But your ink is imprinted on the sands of this earth
The great adviser
The great seer whose oration shook the land
The blessed talent in whose mind
Words met to be fixed in his perfected colander
Commander of fewer words telling long stories
From Rosimaya to Sunset Sonata
You are gone
But your ink is imprinted on the sands of time’s made and unmade sands
You whose life blessed and touched many
You whose mind worked and burned many a night’s wicks
Swim in the waters of peace
You whose ink made paths for many to thread on
You surely have made your path
And in no way can death defeat you
Prof. da yie!
Ya wɔ ojogbaaa!
Death’s ambitious throat cries dissatisfaction
For much of your juices still flow in this breathful place called earth!
And we are grateful even in our sorrows
For all your contributions which are bridges on flooded places
Which drowned many voices in history
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © July 14, 2018