A voice rose,
A flame igniting the dawn,
Thomas Sankara, the son of the soil,
Who showed us how to stand tall, with our heads held up high.
With a fist full of dreams,
And a heart wide as the sky,
He whispered to Africa,
“You are enough, you are free.”
He called us to build with our hands,
Not with the chains of foreign aid,
For his vision was clear, his spirit unbroken—
A continent of unity, a fearless land.
He spoke of the women,
Not as shadows, but as stars,
Bright, fierce, and guiding the path.
“Rise, sisters, take your place,
For freedom is yours, your hands must shape it.”
His fight was with hunger, with ignorance and greed,
And he sowed seeds of hope in the soil of the poor.
He spoke of dignity, of justice, of light,
Of the power we hold to be so much more.
But shadows gather where the light dares shine,
And so they came, the coward’s call,
The bullet that silenced the lion’s roar,
Yet his spirit endures, undimmed by the fall.
For Sankara lives, in every hand that builds,
In every voice that calls for justice,
In the dreams of Africa’s daughters and sons,
Who remember the man who taught us to stand.
We carry your flame, Sankara, still burning bright,
within the Upright People, your fight is our fight.
Through courage, wisdom, and unbroken will,
Your legacy rises, and it rises still.
