Roots deep as the palm nut trees, spirit wild as Sahel winds,
I am the voice that echoes across savannas and city streets.
J.Griot, they call me-
Ink-stained fingers weaving tales of melanin magic. 

Words tumble like waterfalls,
Carving canyons through silence and forgotten histories.
I speak of kings and queens,
Of dreamers and fighters,
Of you and me. 

Listen close, for I bring stories
Etched in tribal scars and urban rhythms,
Told by ancestors,
Shouted by children yet unborn. 

My pen dances to djembe beats,
Painting futures bright as Kente cloth.
I am here.
I am now.
I am Joshua Griot. 

And our tale has only just begun.