Under the shade of the old mango tree,
her fingers weave stories,
Tender and true.

The gentle tug of her hands, rhythmic and calm,
Each braid a bond,
Moments shared in love.

She whispers songs of our ancestors' pride,
each strand a thread, linking past to present.

In her touch, I find comfort and care,
When Mama braids my hair all worries disappear.

...............................[AFRO PRIDE].........................