O'hene' (a Love letter to HER KING)

 

O’hene’

An Ode to the Sons of Kings

You rise each morning

with the weight of the world on your chest.

And still —

You rise.

Unshaken.

Bold.

Unfurled.

Black man, you are strong.

Resilient.

Carved from stone and fire.

Capable of walking through storms

that don’t even bother to call your name.

But you answer them anyway —

with courage.

A Black man’s skin...Your Skin

is rich as soil —

deep, rooted, royal.

Each scar?

A story.

Each step?

A sacred place.

You don’t just carry history...

You are history.

Because your ancestors didn’t die —

they dreamt of you and they dreamt of me.

We are the promise they whispered in chains.

You are the prayer they buried in cotton fields.

You are the sunrise they never got to see.

But I see you

And I hope you see it every morning when you look in the mirror.

You are worthy.

Of love that sees you whole.

Of respect that doesn’t shrink your soul.

Of joy —

not in pieces.

Of rest —

without guilt.

Of light —

without asking.

Your voice

is thunder.

Even when the world plays deaf.

Even when they silence the drum,

You speak —

truth.

Your rhythm is divine.

Your tongue, a symphony

of struggle...

triumph...

and spine.

You should celebrate Yourself.

This hue.

This crown.

These coiled galaxies above your brow.

You are not what they fear.

You are what they dream.

A king.

A healer.

A builder of the highest esteem.

You lead —

with love.

With power that's quiet

but never small.

I lift the room when I walk in.

I am the spark in a young boy’s eyes.

The mentor.

The mirror.

The answer to “what if I could?”

You are brilliant.

Not despite your Blackness —

because of it.

Your thoughts are revolutions.

Your ideas?

Victories.

You paint visions that bend skylines.

You were born to fly...

and You will.

You shape your destiny

with hands made holy.

With intention.

With fire.

With focus.

Peace —

is not a gift.

It’s your birthright.

You are allowed to smile.

To rest.

To breathe.

To cry.

Because strength

looks like survival...

but feels like healing.

Your Blackness is not heavy —

It is holy.

A galaxy in motion.

A badge of honor.

A crown that doesn't need permission.

You are building a legacy.

Brick by brick.

Sweat by prayer.

Your children

and their children

can do more than just survive —

they can live.

You are  held

by a village that knows your name.

By voices that lift you

even when the world forgets.

I am wrapped in love

from every shore.

Not alone.

Not broken.

Not less.

You are more.

(Final pause. Step forward. Look them in the eye. Deliver this as a whisper, or a roar.)

And when the world

tries to tell me

I am too rough...

I rise —

and whisper back:

You
Are
Enough

"This is to the King who earns his place at my side, I'll be waiting"

2025