Written by Isa Davila January 25th, 2005, Bahia Brazil.

listen...ya ya...yo yo

hearing the plaintive strings

of the berimbau...they gather...

who are these blue, brown, green eyed children

wild descendants of fierce Angolan slaves

gathering...they are called...

called to the roda

and this steamy, sultry

Bahian sand...

called from flat brown farmlands

and snowy white mountains

from deep gray canyons

and the littered streets of far away cities

listen...oh lay lay

who are these jumping twirling crouching warriors

limping and bruised

facing fear injury humiliation

from flying kicks and sharp elbows

beyond heat and sweat

beyond all wisdom... and reason

facing themselves in the fury of each other...

they are called...born of the ancient gods

Ogon, Oshun, Chango

they are called to dance

the unfolding history of

heart and courage and

freedom's yearning...

oh... if only their African ancestors could see them now

those whose roda was drawn with blood and toil

see the cool wicked gleam in the eye and that wide crazy grin

share that same mad leap as the

fire of capoeira claims theirs name