In literary light

You Are Not Late — A Poem of African Rising

Postado 2025-04-19 10:28:48 · 186 Visualizações

I did not grow with fingers dancing on keys,

No code in my cradle, no tech in my breeze.

In the heart of my youth, no wires, no screens,

Only dreams shaped by the land and moonbeams.

They said, “Start young,” but I came with age,

Not in the prologue, but mid in the page.

“I’m too old,” I whispered to the mountain wind,

As others flew past where I had not begin.

The world sang of sprints, of youth and might,

But I moved in steps, through shadow and light.

Comparing my dawn to another’s noon,

I nearly buried my song too soon.

But oh, Africa knows —

Great trees do not race to grow.

Baobabs stretch slowly, wide and wise,

Reaching truth in patient skies.

You are not late, child of the drum.

You are the rhythm — your time will come.

The soil does not ask when the seed fell,

It asks: Did you rise? Did you root well?

I have seen warriors reborn at thirty,

Crafting code with hands once dusty.

Mothers turning bug hunters,

Drivers writing future wonders.

Not because they knew all things,

But because they dared to grow wings.

Because they stopped waiting for perfect,

And started with messy, with heart, with intent.

I stopped reading others’ stories

And wrote my own, full of glories.

I built and broke, I learned anew,

With each failure, something grew.

So hear me now, child of the continent —

You are not behind. You are magnificent.

Take that first step, let it ring true,

The drum is calling — it’s waiting for you.

You’re not too old.

You’re not too late.

The tech gates open —

Go write your fate.

#Poem

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