Dust from Different Roads

Young Don Mwafrika. What a name to carry. Like a passport

stamp that never fades. I heard you crossed an ocean on a prayer

and $20, trading everything familiar for the unknown and the brave. You learned to

speak in languages your mama never taught you. Found family at tables where

you didn't know the grace. Every border that you crossed became a lesson not

a barrier. Every stranger's kindness left a mark time won't erase. You got dust

from different roads on your boots. You got truth from different voices in your heart.

You learned the world ain't small when you're standing still, but it shrinks