Life is strange with its ebbs and flows,
the wax and wane s it comes and goes
The seasons change
We change and grow,
It's give and take
We reap and sow
But everything's not Black and white,
With many shades and many types
and many ways to live this life...
So, who's to say Mine isn't right?
We built this world with more than our hands.
Before the first clay met water,
we had already shaped it in our longing
Before the yam sprouted,
we had already fed the earth with prayer.
The wind remembers how our mothers hummed over broken pots,
how our fathers carved their dreams into wood and called it shelter
Every scar in the soil bears witness to a hope that refused to die quietly.
