With our roots firmly in the soil- <br />we shall grow like the Iroko tree, to the pride of the forest <br />In the plague of our night- <br />we shall cry like crickets and ribbit like frogs <br />until day breaks before us <br /> <br />Yes, hunger whips us and her cane touches our bones <br />Yes, the drums of civil war are sounding <br />and we are stepping to its rhythm, in tears and blood <br />Yes, our chiefs are sick with the corruption-fever <br />and they have sent on exile the medicine man and his medicine <br /> <br />But we shall, like the Nyong River, run through the forest <br />and savannahs, we shall flow over those rocks <br />and filter through the pebbles until we pour into the Gulf of Guinea <br />-sparkling under the happy-yellow Sun <br /> <br />Yes, mama Africa- <br />wooed with riches and handed the fortune bag of nature <br />- Lover of the Sun-god <br />who bore us in the heat of her passion <br />-as heirs of the earth <br /> <br />And this heritage, we must preserve; <br />for in it grows- <br />the herbs that will heal us, again <br /> <br />Hold hands, children of Africa <br />From Tunis to Cape Town <br />And from Boosaaso to Dakar <br />We must, a lost dynasty recover.<br /><br />konye ori<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-lost-dynasty-a-call-to-the-children-of-africa/
