Rhythms of the Falls

Matthew Adewale

Biography: A lovely person with good sense of humour. Love poetry to the core and I major in political science. "A political sagacity is not a gireot esparility but is a jimbolical gimbolism."

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Matthew Adewale

Tuesday 5 March 2024

Rhythms of the Falls

In the heart of Africa, where the sun kisses the earth,

Lies a hidden waterfall, its cascades a symphony of rebirth.

Mosi-oa-Tunya, they call it—the Smoke that Thunders,

Where the village children gather, their spirits unencumbered.

At dawn, when the mist rises and the birds stretch their wings,

The children emerge from thatched huts, their laughter like strings.

Kwame, barefoot and strong, wields his wooden pestle,

Pounding yam with purpose, creating sustenance for the vessel.

Adia, with eyes like the river, tends to the bubbling pot,

Her hands deftly stirring, coaxing flavors from what they’ve got.

Vegetables harvested from red soil, roots intertwined,

She weaves nourishment into the broth, a taste of life refined.

The waterfall sings to them—a lullaby of resilience and dreams,

Its spray baptizing their foreheads, stitching together life’s seams.

Ubuntu, they whisper—the interconnectedness of all souls,

From the pounding yam to the soup’s simmering bowls.

As the day wanes, the waterfall’s mist turns golden,

The children sit in a circle, their stories interwoven.

They share their passions—the poet, the farmer, the scholar,

Bound by the falls, they become a tapestry of valor.

And so, in this timeless dance, the village thrives,

Their occupations and passions entwined like beehive.

For the waterfall, the children, and the land—they know,

Their bond is eternal, a rhythm that continues to flow.

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Rhythms of the Falls

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