We're Carrying Our Ancestors Poem by Mitta Xinindlu

When we speak, rivers flow toward us.
Where we walk, earth becomes fire.
Our voices become thunder and lightning.
Our hands become rain.
We're sent to do the work.

Across Africa and her descendants throughout the world, memory is returning.
A remembering is taking place; one of purpose, responsibility, and origin.

Those meant to observe, to heal, and to disrupt what no longer serves are stepping into their roles. We're stepping in quietly and deliberately.

A process of realignment has begun. A re-centering of direction, of meaning, of time itself. Africa's magic is returning. The drums are beating again.

Camagu kwii zinyanya, and to the African ancestral forces strengthening each bloodline across the globe. The remembrance is underway, and it will not be undone.

We're doing the work; each their role as preselected.