How the Ugandan sun desiccated our final trickles of hope
Until our dusty hands ached emptily beneath the drought’s semblance.
A thousand tears to rain once more
Upon my grandfather’s dreams, once vivacious as daylight.

Through the cracks of the earth did my village crumble,
While hunger scintillated in salient hues of arid gold.
Robbed of dignity and fooled by the games of fate,
Every tribesman stood for himself.

“Together we can,” I told my people,
“To rise, to redeem, to rectify our love.
Merge hearts and feel the warmth of your brother’s veins
In the name of the home we once knew so well.”

How hope then flooded in boundless waves,
As each huntsman joined hands with a desolate farmer.
A thousand lineages to unite once more,
Upon my grandfather’s smile did such dreams resurrect.

With greater poise than the prowl of the African lion,
With stronger vigor than the pulse of the Bantu drum
Did the village revitalize through a bond so firm,
As each man lived to witness the Ugandan dream.