PhotoCredit; Husni Che Ngah
We move like black ants through the dusty grounds,

Suspending in cold air,

We mimic the ants language

Not dumb natives

Not voiceless immigrants no more,

Our Queen rules the ground

When we run, we owe the lands

When we sprint, our spirits fly

When we walk, we are the gods.
Nii Fakye💯 All Rights Reserved.