an old saying, Rewritten

There’s an old saying, hear it now: Freedom’s not about owning the crown. It’s needing nothing when the sun goes down, While standing tall on your own ground. We thought freedom was building a wall, With passbooks drawn to make some small. From District Six to Sharpeville’s call, We learned how borders make us fall. But real freedom came on ‘94, April’s dawn threw open the door. From Soweto streets to Langa’s shore, We queued for hours, rich and poor. One ink-stained thumb, one nation’s voice, For Madiba’s dream, we made the choice. Not to be broken by the noise, Of history’s weight and apartheid’s ploys. It’s braai smoke rising to the sky, With vuvuzela’s joyful cry. Eleven tongues, no need to lie, We share the pap as hours go by. True strength isn’t shutting others out, We tried that road, knew fear and doubt. Freedom’s this: to dance and shout, Together free, without a drought. So keep your peace, let no one steal, The joy we bled for, made it real. On Freedom Day, this truth we feel: We need each other to truly heal.