Sweet songs often tell stories of sorrow,
Of love lost, of trials, of Golgotha, of tyranny’s arrow;
In clime clement and kind every hand is valuable,
But it’s tempest that nominates the invaluable.
As Nile’s turgid waters let history’s tenor overflow its banks
For those mothers – of which Winnie is first – that guided our steps
Thro’ the slippery stairs of Mount Oppression
Until we stood on the rooftop of liberation.
Of the goddesses of thunder and lightning
I know but one that never ceased its flaming lightning
Until Apartheid’s boom and doom, bloom and gloom
Released from their lethal jaws a great dream.
From Cape to Cairo her gutsy womb bore justice –
Her trumpet rose high against Jericho;
And in all cities, townships and hamlets
She wore and bore the Amazon’s sword and salvo.
Being of red petals and thorny stem
She still treads on calm waters and storm –
Gauges a due cup to every oesophagus –
And for freedom’s sake travels the deep and the space.
Nomzamo, and she has trials seen – the vigilant tongue of this age!
You who awoke this age to rage against a canine cage –
Castrated with scalpel the fertility of supremacy,
And set loose fresh waters of humanity.
O still steely stainless sword! You slew the restless slumber
That crowned obeisance our perennial ruler;
Africa – let’s slay ingratitude holding hostage our age,
And chant this Africa’s mother’s courage – able in every age.
