Listen
Spoken version
A recorded reading of “The Wounded Heart”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
In the red earth— where rivers sleep— the bones lie still, but the voices speak. Stories carved in cave wall’s shade— tell of strength that cannot fade. They knew the rain. They knew the stone. They walked the veld— through joy and moan. Fences rose. Names were lost. The price they paid still counts the cost. Through winter wind, through summer flame, we still call out each elder’s name. The hills are high— but will is higher. The wounded heart still beats with fire. You can’t bury what won’t be gone. The heart is here— still beating strong. You can’t break the wounded heart— it beats beneath the sand. You can’t tear the roots apart— they’re stronger than your hand. Siyaphambili! Siyaphambili! Through salt pans dry, thornveld bare, through city smoke and market square— the past walks with us. Not in chains. But in the blood that fills our veins. Every drum we beat. Every song we sing— is a step that makes the truth take wing. And the ground we claim with our bare feet’s sound— is the heartbeat deep in the underground. You can’t break the wounded heart— it beats beneath the sand. You can’t tear the roots apart— they’re stronger than your hand. Siyaphambili! Siyaphambili!
Lyrics
In the red earth where the rivers sleep The bones lie still but the voices speak Stories etched in the cave wall’s shade Of a people’s strength that cannot fade They carved the stone, they knew the rain They walked the veld through joy and pain But the fences came, and the names were lost The price they paid, we count the cost Through the winter wind, through the summer flame We still call out each elder’s name The hills are high but the will is higher The wounded heart still beats with fire You can’t bury what won’t be gone The heart is here, still beating strong (You can’t break the wounded heart) It beats beneath the sand (You can’t tear the roots apart) They’re stronger than your hand (Chant: “Siyaphambili! Siyaphambili!”) Through the salt pans dry and the thornveld bare Through the city smoke and the market square The past walks with us, not in chains But in the blood that fills our veins Every song we sing, every drum we beat Is a step that brings the truth to meet And the ground we claim with our bare feet’s sound Is the heartbeat deep in the underground
No published comments yet.