The tired African sun briskly set it’s course towards the east
And darkness ominously crept out for a great feast
Who would not fear the attack of a night beast?
Yet she tenaciously journeyed the dry tenebrous path
Each successful step was a narrow escape from the pangs of death
Who would believe this had precedented our mother’s feat?
Her backbone ached under the weight of the sleeping infant
Yet all she cared about was protecting her descendants
Who but her could be a better defendant?
Sweaty drops eagerly rolled down her head with nonvocal vehemence
Only the strong could have trod with such preeminence
How could we forget the story of her confidence?
Her burdens were heavy and her struggles looked weird
But the hope in her heart outweighed the weight on her head.
Where else could we find such hope, among the dead?
She embarked on a pilgrimage to a better future
Accompanied by tree convoys lining up the edges as with a culture
Who could tell if this was their nature?
I recognize those trees, the baobabs, they lived over a thousand years
Their ancient eyes had silently watched sojourners travelling in tears
What level of wisdom could have actually surpassed theirs?
The irony of their silence passes a clear overtone of hope
With their hopeful and peaceful appearance she was able to cope
Who could have expected the African baobabs to be so dope?
The end of the obnoxious path was soon on sight
No other destination that could have been as bright
But who would dare say it was without a fight?
She became an African heroine even though without a bow
With her descendants she got various titles in a row
Who would have thought the experience would be such a sweet sorrow?