The giant on the oceans sleeps no more.
Its fountain now sprouts and it's an oasis for all.
The bud of her children's dreams is now watered and nurtured,
as her sons and daughters are now well natured.
I look at her big horn and wonder.
“Was this the face that once bore more tears than the oceans could hold,
and had so many agonies untold?
“Was this the face that faced hundreds of genocide, tribal and civil wars,
battled a deadly virus and came out with bruises and sores?
Tell me, oh muse!
How could she be without hate when she was brutally hurt?
Did the gods plan this or was it a mere fate?
So many generations wanted to be there,
When Africa the sleeping giant, like a phoenix, rises and flies in the air,
and life is nice and fair.
When Africans have enough to share,
while their children play here and there.
So many others before us wished they had graced,
a time when Africa becomes so great.
And her children no longer die of AIDS,
a time when infants no longer suffer from malaria on their death beds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem