Among the silence between the winds,
Where whispers of our ancestors linger,
Roots delve deep, entwining through epochs,
Seeking the core of existence.

Beneath the surface,
Where the earth cradles secrets,
Stories are etched in ebony and ochre, each line a bearing
To the pulse of generations.

Griots chant in forgotten tongues,
their words carried on the breath of the palm tree,
Whose branches stretch like yearning arms,
reaching for the wisdom of the stars.

Drumbeats echo in the hollow of night,
A resonance that stirs the marrow,
Invoking the spirits of warriors and weavers,
Each thrum a heartbeat,
Each pause a memory.

Through the lattice of time, we weave our identity,
Strands of culture, resilience, and dream, tangled yet unbroken,
Forming the fabric of our lineage.

Water from the Zambezi flows through our veins,
Its path etched in the contours of our being,
a river of life,
Nurturing the seeds of our essence.

In the marketplace of minds,
Ideas bloom like hibiscus, vibrant and varied,
Each petal a page, each flower a chapter
In the collective saga.

From the highlands to the savannas,
The call of the ancestors is a melody that guides,
A compass set by the stellar, leading us back to our roots.

Mountains rise in silent vigil, their peaks piercing the heavens, sentinels of our heritage,
Each stone a monument to the enduring spirit of our people.

And when night cloaks the land in its velvet embrace,
We find solace in the shadows, for within them,
Lies the promise of dawn,
A new chapter,
Rooted in the soil of Africa.

Through every storm and drought,
Our roots hold firm,
Unyielding and strong,
For in the heart of Africa, we find our place,
our purpose, our home.

............................ [J. Griot]...........................

Know your roots and know who you are.