When there is nothing in us, even a grain of happiness,
But oceans of sadness that make us swim aimlessly,
In oceans of grief that dim our eyes in grim wilderness,
When our eyes are cracking glasses of tears,
When a knife is hungry for our blood, sharpen upon
A non-fresh stone, to stand on the nape of our necks
To make our soul gallery full of songs of sorrows,
Still we must hold on.
Where and when darkness flows in land locks of out nights,
Where we move in places, our conscience cannot move,
When the thickness of darkness have cross-stitch our braveness
To fatality that washed away our morality of peace,
When darkness rain-wash the coat of our dream colorless;
When it leaves us to fields of confusion to grained brains to muse,
Where our chattered dreams image to be a last chapter,
Still we must hold on.
When and where our being is crucified upon our land,
When it strakes to our attention brief dreams undone,
Nor hope to gesture what had been sawn at down,
But we must be the warriors of hope at the battle field
Of our souls, after all had image, still we must hold on...
Freedom as an asset, it belongs to Africa,
Africans shall not negotiate for
Freedom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
it is a good one phinda.