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Echoes of the baobab
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92 days agoEchoes of the baobab
Beneath the shadow of the old baobab,
Whispers of our fathers dance with the wind.
The drum called-dum,dum,dum-
Tell stories of journeys carved in dust.
The sun paints the sky in gold and flame,
Children laughs where river sing.
Our mothers grind songs in calabash bowl,
Pouring love into the breath of the evening meal,
Africa, you are the drum in my chest, the dust on my feet, the fire in my eyes.
Your spirit flows in the river of my blood,
And your tomorrow grows in the garden of my hope.