Beauty in its raw form
Oh, blacks this is the norm
Creator send down a storm
For Africans makes me warm
A rare privilege, to belong
And of sweet memories, to be sung
Memories of security, the Gong
That alerts us all, old and young
Precious, while yet unrefined
Nature, still of course combined
Through torment, and more streamlined
For all conditions, God designed
To and fro, here will i reside
Together with beauty side by side
And otherwise never will i decide
Until Creator takes me from you to hide
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The gong stands out, as the focus of the poem.