"The Soul of Freedom"

 

The morning on our creation day

Had the charming face of a young cheetah

But ran in the pace of a snail.

 

Who would have known that the trophy of independence

That we fell over eachother in celebration of

Will tighten again the locks of slavery yet the more?

 

We cried of faces white as the moon

But not anymore, not anymore

Our own faces bear our nightmare.

 

The stranger's whip has departed our soil

But our brother's sting us like a scorpion

And this pain eats deep into our soul.

 

The soul of the African,

The soul presumed to be free

But every corner in chains and in pains.

 

The soul battered by many years of loots and lies,

A soul hungry yet in plenty

A soul unknown to itself.

 

Do you know that the patched map of our soul strung together

Were the wild guess of an overfed white boy

Drooling over riches untapped within our borders?

 

Every memorial of you 

Is like a sword that pierces deep into

This self-inflicted wound lying brashly in our soul.

 

Your freedom song will never cease

Till all your sons trace back the footpath

Where we betrayed the bond of true brotherhood.

 

This hope lost we never die

It will sail onwards doggedly

Till we reach the shores of true Independence.