Rooted

Like the sturdiest of trees my culture stands. Roots thicker than a southern twang and it runs back to the mother land. See my DNA carries the strength of those queens before me.

The tenacity of a lion.

The wisdom of the elephant.

The audacity of the giraffe.

My ancestors breathe through me like the swiftest of winds. Lifting me up and leaving me elated. They claim me; and exclaim their identity. For my existence is through them, by which my roots grow.

Sturdy stands the tree of my people. Lips glisten like the nile with inspiration that flows through the ears of each child. African Americanisms, it's a thing. The culture, the slang, the unwavering strength to defeat the odds of the man.

Back home a drum beats to set the tone of the heart beat of our race. It feeds the Malcolms, the Martins, the Ali's of some sorts. The Mayas, the Angelas, And Ruby Dees. To Chaka khan, the black panther queen. Our roots fuel the nature of our soul. Even the lost kings and queens benefit from our cultural stature.