Flowers of peace are now magnificently blossoming
In the gardens of the battlefields of Khartoum and Kinshasa.
And roses of tranquillity and order slowly blooming
In the flower pots of Kigali’s sorrowful genocide cites.
The smoke of dead gun-fire still flies
In the skies of the outskirts of Monrovia and Abidjan.
But live sporadic gunfire persistently lightens
In the troubled skies of Bunjumbula and Mogadishu.
Hot waters of hunger, starvation and suffering still pour
On the heads of Harare and Adisababa.
And the lines of untold poverty are still drawn
Across the villages of Lilongwe and Bamako.
The string of absolute monarchy is still tight
Around the political circles of Mbabane.
And the chains of an authoritarian state
Still hang around the neck of Innocent Tripoli.
Freedom then denied to free civilians
Is now freely enjoyed by freer people of Freetown.
But the rights of free civilians in Banju
Are tightly held in a knot of military dictatorship.
The barrels of guns of power hungry politicians
Are now silent in the roads of Brazzaville.
But northern villages and jungles of Kampala
Are still infested with the disease of rebel attack.
Maputo and Luanda are now being built
Out of the mud of the longest and brutal wars.
And the dirty white walls of the hated apartheid
Are now being splendidly painted black in Johannesburg.
The smell of peace, progress, poverty and panic surely hangs
In the corners of my sincerely beloved fatherland.
And the wave of sickness, suffering and starvation still hits
The peoples of my dear beautiful Fatherland.