Congo, Dance Alone Poem by Joseph Cimanuka

Congo, my only one,
My only heritage from my forefathers;
From your womb, I am fed and nourished,
On your land, I dwell and breathe,
Upon your face, I work and multiply.

Yet I am a puppet,
Moved by invisible strings,
Forced to imitate my killer's every move;
Forgetting that you are my only one,
And that upon your face
My offspring will one day sprout.

I sing and dance rumba
For the freedom I still seek:

Lumumba, my hero,
An exceptional man—
He died, yes, he died,
He died for me.

On the thirtieth of June,1960,
He stood for my freedom;
He helped break the chains
Of Belgian colonial rule.

Yet my sovereignty
Is still waiting to be born.

I remain a puppet
Dangling from foreign strings,
Unable to dance
To the rhythm of my own heart.

But one day,
I must break these strings,
Rise from the hands that move me,
And learn to dance alone—

To choose my own steps,
To write my own destiny,
And to become, at last,
The master of my own movement.

Congo, my only one,
My only heritage—

Your freedom
Must also become mine.