Seeds of the Baobab
Hope rises with the Serengeti sun,
Painting the savanna in amber light.
It speaks in the language of rain
After seasons of cracked, thirsty earth.
The baobab stores water in its trunk,
Teaching us patience through dry months.
The griot sings of ancestors who survived
When survival seemed impossible.
Hope dances in village celebrations,
In the rhythm of talking drums,
In stories passed around cooking fires,
In children’s games beneath acacia trees.
It is the maize pushing through soil,
The migration returning as promised,
The healing hands of village elders,
The first stars appearing after dusk.
Our grandmothers say hope is not foolish—
It is the wisdom that keeps us planting
Even when locusts have come and gone.
It is the memory that drought always ends.
We wear it in beaded necklaces,
Carry it in woven baskets to market,
Mix it into our daily bread,
Find it in the circle that never breaks.
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Poetry © Success Chidera Okwu
Image: ChatGPT remixed