i rise to tell of the glory
that awaits those about whom Biko spoke
the living
the departed and the unborn
the beautiful ones
in whose name this narrative echoes

i rise to sing an anthem to the gods
the regal
the magnificent
and the epic who rest
but their cause does not

we rise with the rhythm of sacred melodies
for we are of the drum
on the throne of those who came before
we rise to tell of the prophecy of our triumph
to break the new silence of our age
to shatter the spell of those who say
yesterday is a crime
about which we shall speak no more

we rise in song for the titans who came before
the kings and queens in whose memory no statues have risen
to Sobukwe and Mantatise
to Mothopeng and Tiro
to Pokela, Mohapi and Asvat
to Shezi, Mashinini and Chipape
to Phama and Mkhabela
and the galaxy of warriors unknown
you who stand like monuments in our hearts
resplendent in your majesty


in the sunrise of a nation at birth
we rise to speak truth to power
for you too rose to the mountaintop
to stop the thunder of yesteryear
to look the beast in the eye
and said with fire in your belly
Africa for the Africans
Black is Beautiful

but we also rise with rage in our voice
because those who carry the gift of Sobukwe's legacy
the guardians the keepers of the good manifesto
are themselves unworthy of the honour
unfit to pass the nation's highest test
as it roars into the twilight
the lion devours itself

we rise with rage in our voice
because those who wear the crown of Biko's heritage
are themselves icons of shame
unclothed and devoid of his wisdom
absent in the theatre of the day
as a diamond shatters into a thousand pieces of silver

we rise not to seek your friendship
we rise to awaken reason
to warn of the perils of our making
if our nation is to fall
into the abyss which today devours Zimbabwe
who shall the people turn to
when the sons and daughters of Tambo's dazzling glory
turn the nation asunder

if our dream is to perish
in the way Lumumba's dream
is drenched with the blood of Lumumba's children
who shall the people turn to
when those who wear Luthuli's golden crown
rob the nation blind and curse the dream

we rise to pose the question
who shall the people turn to
if those who wear the leopard on their shoulders
unsheathe the claws to slaughter their own
if the laughter is silenced
and the voices are caged
if the guns return from their hiding place

i rise to speak of the fire that shall come
and the storms that shall batter
the dream against the rocks
i rise to tell of the hunger that will fill the belly
if the demons of yesteryear crawl back to the throne
and a dream is deferred

do we not know that
if the people shall not govern
the past shall step up to the podium

when the leaders become dealers
and the people's assembly
becomes the casino of the highest bidders
who shall we turn to
when the rulers break the rules
and they fail to heal the people
of the plague that robs the blood
of the power to stand and fight

i ask you this
to whom will the wretched turn
when the custodians of the gods
look to the ground in shame
hapless
helpless and impotent

we rise to sing an anthem to the gods
to beg their return to the land
to plant anew the dream in our hearts
to whisper again the promise of freedom
and peace among the Africans