Our footprints are young markings
On the damp earth of Anguwan Daji
This is where the wind whistles
And whisk away our destinies like worn foliage.
We play Suwe and rubber rings on our field
And watch the ravens display in the horizon at evenings
Then we long to soar in pursuit of our destinies
Parceled in orbs on the palms of eternity.
Dada, we cry
Gates and Einstein climb lofty high
Yet you say humans do not fly - a lie
Here in Anguwan daji, we shall fly.
Let the natives fetch their drums not bombs
Let them shadow the pitch of our ancestors
Let the brawny sing songs not guns
We the children shall build wings from the fun
And make strength from peace and unity
To fly high and fetch our destinies
Sing not fight
Drum not gun
The African child shall fly high
Propelled by fun
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem