What will we leave to our children but tales of dust and despair?
I celebrate the sound of a fallen giant rising to its feet
For life will dash us against the rocks. We will be bruised but we must not break.
The drumming of a heart that beats with the same rhythm as yours?
This is not yet uhuru, We cannot yet sing liberdade, We have not yet tasted ominira...
We are black women We are more.
Freedom is like a skylark
women of colour run with a million dreams on their backs
we are the girl in the photograph and the girl on the ocean bed and the girl on the mountaintop
The struggles of Senghor are the struggles of Stokely, The troubles of Tubman are the troubles of Tambo