I am—born and grown under the bright Caribbean sun,
cradled in the warm, salt-sweet womb of the Caribbean Sea.
Before my ancestors dreamed of freedom,
God was already stirring the waters,
brooding over chaos, whispering life into broken beginnings.

The waves sang my lullaby before I knew my name,
and the trade winds carried the stories of those who came before me—
migrants, wanderers, the stolen and the free,
flora and fauna carried across oceans,
rootless yet taking root again.

I am the child of forced migrations and fragile dreams,
where empires tried to bleach our souls,
to silence our drums, and scatter our tongues.
But God—our hidden compass—was not silent.
God’s breath rose in our songs and drumming,
God’s heartbeat pulsed in our resistance,
and in every rhythm of defiance, we met the Divine.

We rewrote false stories and breathed new life into old bones.
We danced our pain into poetry,
sang our grief into gospel,
and carved from exile a home.

I am the offspring of resurrection,
for even in the dust of oppression,
God planted seeds of renewal.
My blood carries echoes of Africa, whispers of India,
fragrance of Asia, and the footprints of Europe—
all mingling beneath one sun.
Here, colour does not divide but blend,
tones of skin and rhythm of voice forming a living rainbow.

I am of Caribbean ethnicity—
a mosaic of many races,
a chorus of accents and laughter,
a people who rise, rebuild, and rejoice.
We are called “Out of Many, One People”—
a truth both fragile and fierce,
woven by hands that remember the chains
but still reach for freedom’s horizon.

I am—
sea and sun, root and rhythm,
memory and possibility.
And at the centre of it all—God,
the first Creator, the eternal Drummer,
the unseen Mover who calls us still
to dance the freedom He dreamed for us.

I am the Caribbean—
not conquered, but continually created.
Born of God’s own imagination,
I am—because God is.