Home Coming Son By Tsegaye Gabre-Medhin

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Look where you walk unholy stranger 

This is the land of the eighth harmony 

In the rainbow: Black.

 It is the dark side of the moon 

Brought to light

This is the canvas of God's master stroke,

Out, of your foreign outfit unholy stranger 

Feel part of the great work of art 

Walk in peace, walk alone, walk tall, 

Walk free, walk naked 

Let the feelers of your mother land 

Caress your bare feet 

Let Her breath kiss your naked body.

But watch, watch where you walk forgotten stranger 

This is the very depth of your roots: Black. 

Where the tom-toms of your fathers vibrated 

In the fearful silence of the valleys 

Shook, in the colossus bodies of the mountains 

Hummed, in the deep chest of the jungles. 

Walk proud.

Watch, listen to the calls of the ancestral spirits prodigal son 

To the call of the long awaited soil 

They welcome you home, home. In the song of birds 

You hear your suspended family name 

The winds whisper the golden names of your tribal warriors

The fresh breeze blown onto your nostrils

Floats their bones turned to dust.

Walk tall. The spirits welcome 

Their lost-son returned.

Watch, and out of your foreign outfit brother 

Feel part of the work of art 

Walk in laughter, walk in rhythm, walk tall

Walk free, walk naked.

Let the roots of your motherland caress your body

 Let the naked skin absorb the home-sun and shine ebony.