I am in the southern part of America. Celebrating Christmas. As I thought about where I am today in my journey artistically. I begin to think about how far we have come as people of the African Diaspora and how much work there is to do, still. . .Those thoughts inspired this poem. . .I will share a few lines.

The Wind of my Ancestors

The wind whistle the tune of freedom, so sweet to my ears

Southern breeze kiss my cheeks with dreams of tomorrow

My ancestors worked this land

The blood that flows in my arteries was brought with the price of oppressions enemy, liberation and rebellion

Freedom ‘s cost is no the mail of that wind and I listen. . .