Zimbabwe My Jerusalem In frica

In the cradle of sunrise, where Vhumba’s cliffs kiss the sky, I hear the heartbeat of a nation, ancient and alive, A land of gold, of honey, of milk—rich with promise, Where peace flows like the Zambezi’s endless tide. They whisper, they slander, tongues untouched by dust, Yet they have never felt the soil beneath my feet, Never tasted the sweet‑bitter tea of Matopo’s hills, Never heard the thunder of Victoria’s falling veil. Here, morals are the compass, dignity the road, Love is the language spoken in every market, Education is feasted on, law is a steadfast river, And home—my home—shines with a quiet, fierce fire. From Gonarezhou’s savannah to Hwange’s whispering grass, Wildlife roams, a tapestry of species, a living hymn, Dzimbahwe’s stone walls echo stories of empire, While Harare’s streets pulse, a city that never sleeps. I carry my name like a badge, a simple, dignified song, A testament to identity forged in this sacred earth, My connection runs deeper than roots, it is blood, A bond unbroken, a promise never to betray. Let this verse travel beyond borders, across oceans, To shake screens, to stir souls, to rest on newspaper ink, A testament etched in books, in classrooms, in memories.