The ancient dance
Of the weavers hands
As he toggles the cone
And releases the kente
Cloth with a mind of its own,
This subtle cloth speaks plenty,
Its designs are poems,
That argue for the wearer,
Its designs speak volumes,
Of history for the bearer,
We should never forget
From where we come,
Its written in the weft,
Its been the voice of Kings,
Its warned of certain death,
It speaks of war, and peace,
It gives the wearer wings,
It gives the heart release,
To fly above his enemy,
And when the Weavers
Weave their own voice
Into the kente cloth a symphony
Plays softly in his choice
Of dance and synergy.

14 Dec 2019 ©victori