The echo of shackles still hangs heavy,
A weight carried not just on tired limbs,
But in the guarded glances, the coded hymns.

Yet, defiance beats a steady drum,
A pulse that snakes through generations,
A warble born from lamentations.

Weathered hands that built empires from scratch, now clench into fists,
A righteous match.
Their calloused palms write freedom's decree, Chiseled on protest signs, raised for all to see.

Voices, once choked by oppression's grip,
Rise in a chorus,
Refusing to be clipped.

They shout anthems of resilience, loud and clear, a song of struggle, conquering fear.

For in the rhythm of resistance, a power lives, A collective heartbeat where history confides. This movement, a river, carving a new way, Washing away the chains of yesterday.

...............................[AFRO PRIDE].........................