Under the Shadow of a Flywhisk We Dream to Heal the Land

Anthropomorphic spirit out in search of demons

That assault the body and devour our health with relish

We go to war

Memories of King Shaka’s ‘Bull’s Horn’ strategy unfold

This time to combat invisible yet deadly viruses 

With speed and determination

We travel on manes of the gods to battlefields

Where soldiers sweat, wrestle with dry coughs

As fingertips tickle and shake

We have fought these armies before

Ancestral memories rise to 

Transport us to verdant fields

Where weapons of nature grow

To heal an ailing people