In soil where ancient shadows gently lie,
Our grandmothers wore sunshine like a crown,
No fancy jars beneath a painted sky,
Just red clay warmth and palm oil smoothed right down.
They bathed in rivers, wrapped in mother-earth,
And aged like baobabs—enduring, strong;
Their wrinkles told of laughter, harvest, birth,
A timeless beauty where no rush belonged.

Yet now the youth chase shadows in a glass,
With imported creams and acids stacked in rows,
Obsessed with youth that’s bound by time to pass,
Forgot the strength that in our soil grows.
We scrub away the shield our elders wore,
In search of shine that artificial light supplies,
We trade the wisdom known in days of yore
For sleek modern potions under bright blue skies.

What happens when the chemicals wear thin,
And unnatural light leaves tender faces burned?
When we forget that beauty’s deep within,
And unlearn lessons that our mothers learned?
Our skins grow weary, thin, and swift to break,
Stripped of the native strength that kept us whole,
Chasing a ghost for modern fashion’s sake,
While losing touch with the ancestral soul.

So, pause and ask what serves your spirit best—
If these new waters nourish, let them flow,
Keep what gives strength, and cast away the rest.
But if your tender skin begins to show
A silent grief, a burden it can’t bear,
What next, when modern promises run dry?
Will you return to earth and ancestral care,
Or keep on searching ‘neath a clouded sky?