Love me despite, can we get along?(A peace song)

Hate me for other things my sister,

But don’t hate me for raising my fist high.

Don’t blame me for that, no, no, no, no, don’t!

This fist is a language,

for emphasising my history.

It is my personal choice, and a human right too

This fist is the symbol I have known since birth-bed,

for I was born with my fists folded.

It was my dad's rights of passage tutorial,

and that fist liberated my country from intruders.

Raise your open palm, let me raise my fist,

and together let us live forever in harmony,

despite our differences.

Deride my other body parts sister,

don't deride that fist!

No, no, no, no, please dont!

My sheroes and heroes, gone and present,

raised that fist high in the bush,

to spice up the struggle.

This fist my sister,

carried the catalyst for the revolution,

the revolution that bought back my land and dignity.

Hate me for other things my sister,

But never for raising my fist high up,

It is a choice and a human right,

and I will forever raise it high.

Raise your open palm, let me raise my fist

And together let us live forever in harmony,

despite our differences.

Force me to smile back to your phony grins,

don’t force me to raise an open palm high.

No, no, no, don’t force me to do that!

Where I come from, your open palm,

is a pictogram for farewells.

I have no reason to say goodbye as yet,

So don’t force me to raise my open palm up.

Grandma taught me never to say goodbye,

she taught me to embrace all with love and power.

So for that reason my sister,

I only have a cause to raise my fist up,

For women and men power,

And no reason to wave you goodbye.

Continue to raise your open palm,

leave me to my fist,

and together let us live forever in harmony,

despite our differences.

Don’t force me to put my fist down

No, no, no, don’t force me that

Because I have a dream

I have a dream, for the Africa I want to see

An Africa of equal men and women,

an Africa teeming with wealth and riches,

and that vision is in that fist hidden.

An Africa when no one will ever say goodbye,

where sheroes and heroes will only depart,

to lie in rest with Nyerere and Nkrumah.

An Africa where women will embrace and raise their fists up

And live in strength as they give birth to more babies

female and male babies with folded fists.

So, don’t hate me for my fist, and for raising it up high

Because I will forever raise it up

Raise your open palm up,

let me raise my powerful fist up,

and together my sister,

let us live in diversity and harmony.

You hate me for saying just one word,

yet you feel good for saying so many words?

You hate me for saying one word, ‘comrade’?

No, no, no, my sister,

don’t hate me for saying ‘comrade’.

Comrade is just a word

And comrades are peaceful people

So I will say it boldly and peacefully.

This word, comrade, is for me, an energiser

that catalysed the dead and the living,

in the bush, to liberate my history

That word comrade will never die

Because Lumumba was a comrade,

Nyerere was a comrade,

Nehanda was a comrade,

Aya Asantewaa was a comrade,

and because Africa will never die.

So don’t hate me my sister, join me instead

And together let us sing the courage and camaraderie,

of those who brought our land back to us

Sing your words my sister, let me sing my word, comrade!

But together we can still live in peace,

side by side in harmony.

despite our variation.

Don’t hate me for the flag on my car window

for sticking it on my fridge either

Or for sticking it on my headboard, as I sleep

This flag re-wrote history,

brought down the Union Jack in my country,

created a parliament with black women and men

and claimed education for girls and boys alike.

Let this flag spice up the food in my fridge.

Let it evoke the spirit of sheroes of the struggle,

to protect my driving.

Let the flag serenade the sweet dreams,

and ripe orgasms on my be

So, don’t hate me for raising this flag high my sister

Raise your flag, let me raise mine

but together let us live forever in harmony,

despite our differences.

You want me to walk slowly and sofly?

You hate me for sprinting when I should be walking?

No, no, no, no,no, my sister

Listen! I am a peace military woman,

born with peaceful military blood hot and high up in my veins.

I am a pan-African feminist my sister,

pushed by my feminist stillettos,

to sprint the walk,

sprint it with the zeal of Nehanda

and Aya Asantewaa.

Walk your borrowed soft lady walk,

let me walk my Nehanda sprint,

but together let us live

in peace and harmony.

So you want me to laugh like a lady,

your self perceived lady laugh?

And you hate me for laughing out loud,

and for throwing my head back hillariously,

as if I own a gold mine?

No, no, no, no, sis, dont hate me for that.

I own no gold mine,

but let me laugh despite!

I am an African princess my sister,

and I inherited cows and bulls,

when my parents rested with Nkrumah.

keep your foreign bank accounts

and inventory of urban assets.

Let me keep my joy and herd of cattle,

but together let us live,

side by side in peace and harmony.