Yangu

By Noah Vale

A calling in flame and drumbeat.
They gathered in silence older than bone,
Around a fire that didn’t burn,
But remembered.
Ash and ember spoke my name,
In tongues I hadn’t learned yet:
Yangu
Yangu
Yangu!
The drums weren’t played
They were summoned;
Each beat, a footstep from the unseen.
Each rhythm, a fingerprint of my past,
Tapping at my chest chanting:
Do you hear us now?
The fire didn’t ask, it claimed.
Not to harm,
But to purify.
I watched shadows dance in the flames,
Wearing my face in versions I’ve never met;
Child. Prophet. Wonderer. Seed.
They circled me
Not with threat, but with knowing.
And they still said
Yangu
You are mine.

Yangu
We waited for this moment.
Yangu.
You forgot who you were,
But we didn’t.
I stood bare
Not in body
But in soul.
And the fire didn’t burn me
It recognized me
Like a mirror made of memory.

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Noah Vale is a 20 year old poet from Serowe, Botswana that writes poetry as an act of reflection and release, turning emotion into language and silence into story. Their work carries echoes of longing, hope, and the search for meaning in ordinary life.