THE AFRICAN DRUM
The sound of our time,
the beat of our lives,
the story of our history,
the history of our making.
you are the joy of the very begining,
but the end of the new begining.
your sound was the best call,
your beats saw endless steps,
and your story made the moon stay extra night.
your history is what our future is missing,
your begining is locked in graves,
with your end missing down the shelves.
when can i find one drum so large,
termites feast my waiting flute,
age bends my patient legs,
and each day I move away from my voice.
my heart beat away each day in wait,
just to beat, just to hear and just to dance.
if in this life our meeting is never real,
History our heaven, will wait,
so back where hearts fear to reach,
someday with you i'll surely play.
this is to you a drum of memories,
to the drum that will never beat,
to you my African Drum.
