To whom do i owe the pleasure of sharing my intricate clicks and drum bound
dancing of my tongue of a dying people?
to whom do i owe the pleasure of sharing the claps and the steps that massage
the earth and invoke the rains to water our crowns?
With whom do i share the pain in my land?
With whom do i speak of our fallen kings and warriors to whom i owe my being?
To whom do i owe the mahogany tainted skin and dark earth eyes?
To whom do i owe the subtle hint of kingship in my step?
With whom do i unfold the aged pages of our history that is deeply buried in the
elderly, for they soon will visit the grave?
The lines on their faces hold the essence of life and true wisdom, but all we see
is their old ways that pale in comparison to my mp3 player!
These thoughts are with me like the constant humming of an expectant mother,
pregnant with life, pregnant with the future, pregnant with the hope of better
things promised to come!
It is to she, for she is my truest companion.
She gave witness to my first breath and it is she who will witness my last.
I will return to her whence forth i came.
She is Africa, to whom i owe all that i speak!