From Busoga’s heart, the lioness rose,
Her voice a tempest the tyrant knows.
She stood in the tent where the voiceless wait,
And thundered of justice, of laws, of fate.
“Where is the compass that guided our dawn?
Who stole the promise our martyrs won?”
Once betrayed by the throne she upheld with grace,
She bore humiliation, disgrace, disgrace.
Yet unbroken she marched through betrayal’s fire,
With vision unyielding, with spirit entire.
Not poison, nor rumor, nor plots in the night,
Could dim the torch of her righteous fight.
The crowd arose, their cheers a flood,
Echoing ghosts of Luwero’s blood.
Heroes and martyrs, a vanished throng,
Whispered her name in an endless song.
For she was their voice, their memory’s shield,
The living covenant they once sealed.
She called out the clowns who squander the land,
Who juggle with billions, with theft in hand.
She summoned the shame of a nation undone,
Where schools collapse and roads are none.
But in her cadence, like prophets of old,
Burned visions of justice, fearless and bold.
So carve her epitaph in pillars of stone:
Kadaga, lioness, Uganda’s own.
Not for a crown, nor throne did she strive,
But for a nation to breathe, to thrive.
Her roar still echoes, a timeless plea:
“Uganda—awake, and set yourself free.”

 

 

 

 

Photo by Christopher Bill on Unsplash