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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,

as Afrikans.