"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.
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