Every soldier leaves home for a campaign
Not sure for how long and to who’s gain
Whether they return or not matters less
A choice to remember every loss but theirs
All I want to know is this,
Who gave me a wooden sword and a sad horse?
These generals disrespect me.
Who took away my silver boots and gloves?
But they don’t know a fraction of me!
I am no soldier. I take no human order
I am more of a warrior. Sorry Sir.
Take your horse and silver
I have a skin that eats from the sun
I have feet that feed from the earth
I have my scars as wings
And a desire. Like fire, incorruptible.
The Fathers of my land stand by me
The Mothers of my land feed me
I am her Child. Her Son. Her warrior
To her glory I write. Glory to Africa!