Akuastra

 I step into the spiral, not to escape—

but to remember.

Ashé to the root, ashé to the wing,

Ashé to the serpent who taught me to sing.

I gather the bones of forgotten lore,

I braid them with breath, with ink, with roar.

My hands are altars, my voice a flame,

Each sigil I carve reclaims my name.

Akuastra

I call to the mothers, the masked and the veiled,

To the drumbeat of futures our ancestors hailed.

Let the tea leaves whisper, let the scrolls ignite,

Let the mask become mirror, the mirror become rite.

I do not sell—I sanctify.

I do not brand—I testify.

This is Sankofa. This is spiral.

This is sacred survival.

Ashé.