Mentor mine,

Please turn back the hands of time.

It is the eighties with me a little boy bumping into you.

Starstruck and lost on what to do.

I just called out to you.

You smiled and called me back, “hello little man”.

Boy o boy, for this little boy, it felt good to be called some kind of Man.

This summarises you,

You knew how to woo.

Thirty years on we will connect.

Open about intent.

Debates so intense.

Knowledge so immense.

In pursuit of what for Ghana makes sense.

At your feet I learnt.

When I despair, you were hell bent

Never to have me relent.

You will argue that we never give up on Ghana no matter how hopeless it seems, for someday we shall overcome. You never hesitated to remind us that sometimes we are the change we seek.

Mentor mine,

Please turn back the hands of time.

Eighteen we have seen

With you in between.

You served the longest.

Walked through the times toughest.

Rose to the calling and passed the test.

Even when you took your rest,

When called to serve, you say yes.

Indisputably, you remain the best!

The rest, too far apart to make a contest.

Mentor mine,

Please turn back the hands of time.

When I walk onto the street, Asanfena,

I still hope to find you within the greens,

Setting up for a rendezvous.

While I enjoy my envious look at the deux chevaux.

You will uncork the finest Japanese.

Unbox the classiest Cubans.

And in perfect harmony,

We sip and puff.

Boy o boy, private and humble you may have been

But you sure had great taste and treat in between.

Mentor mine,

Please turn back the hands of time.

More than ever before Ghana needs you in this time.

You were what now should have been.

A touchstone you remain, any day.

Hard to believe, your 80^th jam was just like yesterday

But today, you are gone away.

Touchstone.

At Asanfena, I wait

Please walk through the gate.