We are travelers on one spinning shore,
Carved from clay by the same unseen hand.
No crown was placed on skin or shade
We rise and fall on equal land.
They drew false borders in the mind,
With chains of thought and lines of hate.
Yet truth outlives the maps of man
Love never needed to segregate.
A darker hue, a lighter tone,
Are merely echoes of the sun.
The pigment in our outward shell
Hides hearts that beat as only one.
Colonial ghosts still haunt today,
In silent laws and subtle speech.
But justice is the louder wind
That wakes the roots and dares to teach.
From kente threads to Baobab roots,
Let unity be what we weave and grow.
Each voice a drum, each hand a spark—
We must ubuntu the world we know.
Speak truth in circles, heal in song,
Let Sankofa guide the path we tread
For justice blooms when we return
To lift all souls where hate once spread.
