The New Call of the River Nun

From the rising sun in the east To casted shadows after dark in the west, Our tribal marked faces show, A timeless story, aglow. Seasons come and go, Hiding shades and dimmed sparks. Beneath the sprawling swamps, Cornering meandered mangroves, Our roots run deep, Anchored in attires of legacy. Our heads see without light, Guided by old wisdom unspoken. Truth and strength wrap us, Like leaves hiding the stem, This binding keeps us to mother earth, Fatherland, and to each other. The river Nun whispers Future tales of our past, Her ebb and flow carry songs of joy, Of resilience, of hope. Wells oiled to bustle with life, Echoing voices of a southern people united, Crafting stories with each fishing net, With each catch and harvest, With each chant that shakes the air. We stand with one another, As trees in a forest, Strong and steadfast, Each branch reaching, Each leaf singing, Together in harmony, Brothers and sisters fit to guide, The new call of the river Nun.