A Feast In Ashanti
In the fading August sunset,
I walk out of my mud house
In my checkered colored kente,
And dazzling wooden slippers.
As the sounds of drums echo behind,
I dance to the tune of melodic songs.
Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong!
The beats resound, whirling along
With the soothing tune of the pawpaw-stick flute.
I chant along with the crowds:
“Nana oo, Nana!”
In recognition of the kings
Of the Ashanti kingdom—
Royals worth their weight in gold,
As I am awed by a culture that never grows old.
I dine with the kings at the Adai Kesse festival,
An indigenous gathering beneath my feet,
In Kusmasi, where tradition thrives
And heritage dances in every heartbeat.
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