Echoes of the Ancestors

From the belly of the earth like the Baobab tree, Inheritors of wisdom, lovers of ancestry, We bend the bow of tradition, gripping tales of the brave, Songs passed down in fireside whispers, wisdom in each phrase. Clay pots hold the memory of hands that shaped them round, In the drumbeat, hear the heartbeat, of our ancient ground. We dance to rhythms sculpted from a bygone age, Each rhythm, each movement, keeping alive our heritage. The loom echoes stories in vibrant threads, interlaced, In each kente strip we weave, an echo of our grace. A babbling community thread, intricately spun, In the cloth of unity, we are forever one. {end}