Mighty nation, rise
Cast to the wind the ashes
Of sorrow — dust of the dead .
Beloved Afrika, we must
Rise again. Light the adrenaline
of lost ages. For you
the damned is not destined.
Master what you will.
Will is the master.
Clutch the anguish of the fallen
warriors & strike back
with bloody fury. Salt the gashes
of nations . In civil wars, snarled
with fire powder. Line the wounds
–refulgent scars, stripes of glory –We
are emblems of tomorrow’s light.
The horizon is our altar.
On we fight , to be what we must
be. Free. To rise again,