Spirit of the Africano

It is the origin and hope of a thousand children, the love that transforms young seedlings to plants. Its breath canvasses the woods of the Zaire o'er the hills of Zimbabwe down to the lowlands of the Mozambique. It is the great tide that accompanies the Nile to kiss our cheeks at first light, the stars that glitter when the sun slumbers in celestial furlough. Tis the bravery that enveloped the hearts of our forbearers, the burning lamp at the towerwatch of the Zanzibar. It is the courage to walk the dark places in mythical lore. the strength that flows in Simba's pride. It is the tongue of the Phoenix; the screams at slaver's bay. Tis the blistered feet of enslaved athletes at the diamond mines of sierra Leone. Tis the very thread that weaves us in the roots of originality. It is the bowl that feeds all with kindness, the souls of a million bound in Porter's fellowship. Tis the spirits of my black martyrs