I walk between worlds,
One made of concrete and glass, while the other is made of clay and fire,
Each step is a dance between who I am,
And who they were.
I speak in two languages,
One forged in the heat of the city,
The other woven in the songs of elders,
Echoing in my veins like a forgotten drum.
I am both the seed and the tree,
With branches reaching for the sky,
Yet my roots dig deep,
Seeking the stories buried in the dust.
In every step, I find myself,
In the rhythm of old songs,
And in the colors of my woven cloth,
I am the bridge between the past and present.
My heritage is not a weight I carry,
But wings that lift me,
A flame that lights the path ahead,
Guiding me home to who I’ve always been.
In their strength, I rise,
In their wisdom, I see.
The journey to myself
Is a return to them.
