My heart is beating like the primitive African drum,
Rumbling deep in the painted caves of the Kalahari,
With a fire rounded by stories of the old,
To soothe the thundering storms looming on the horizon,
Lightning brings flashes of light that brighten the dark skies,
Overpowering the stars that normally dominate such with fireflies,
The roaring, cloaking, and hissing sounds,
Spooky enough to make grown men shiver,
Night skies getting covered by the turbulent clouds,
A subtle burst of cool winds signaling a shower,
Brushes my face and the fire’s light reflects on my eyes,
Glitters in this dark and harsh place,
Warmed by the inhabitants who call it home,
It takes more than just love to be happy,
With darkness there are no florals,
Only with light just like morals,
The losing of which is like a bursting balloon,
Baboons calling out in unison,
Warning the others of this poison,
That gives life for all living organs,
What we hide haunts our goodness,
No hope will be lost even as orphans,
Cause often we fear greatness,
But that is what we are here for,
An African dominance even in the wilderness,
To witness our true callings and not what they cheer for,
So with the passing stormy rain,
Order is restored while the crickets play their normal songs,
Clever ones are pondering about the new ponds,
Life then thrives in this place,
We shall inherit these treasures and replace the true ideas displaced,
And let our hearts beat to this vibrating rhythm,
Because for too long we have been playing victims.
