We are the descendants of the black,
our pride lies in us, our colour, our inheritance,
our culture, our diversity, our unity, our dignity.
Blessed be the ties that bind us.
We are the descendants of the black,
with our sweat and blood,
like the rain and flood,
we till the ground to put an end to hunger.
Blessed be the works of our hands.
Sons and daughters of the land we are,
conceived under the watch of the evening moon,
birthed at the sight of the sunny noon,
blessed is the breast that fed us,
blessed is the wrapper that strapped us on our mothers' back.
We are blacks,
the colour of our heritage from our fathers,
our fairest, black, our darkest, black,
for this is the colour engraved on our flesh,
that we may forget not.
But why? Why did we trail
from the path of our fathers to the thrall of the unknown?
Why did we desert our lifestyle
for the sumptuous desserts of pain?
Why did we allow our sights to be blinded by the murky lights of a new culture?
Why did we remove our prestigious attire
for the rags of civilisation?
We have turned deaf ears to the jingling bells,
we have paid no attention to the singing birds,
we have disposed of our melodious lyrics
for dirges and jargons which we understand not.
The bells still ring,
the birds still sing,
it is written on the lips of our fathers as they cry out;
"Come back to the rock in which you were hewn,
let us repair the foundation of our tradition
and make it new"
Sons and daughters of Africa,
May we not be as a stray dog,
that listened not to the whistle of its owner.
May we not be as a river,
that forgot its source and dried off.
May we not be a generation,
that hearkens not to the call to repentance and dies off.
The bells still ring,
the birds still sing,
it is written on the lips of our fathers as they cry out;
Come over,
take cover under the shield of your land,
wear your prestigious attire again,
embrace the newness of your culture.
©Eriikeoluwanimi