In the warm embrace of Africa’s dawn, Under the skies where freedom was born, The year was '94, South Africa's pride, When millions queued, history's stride.

They stood, not just on African soil, But on the cusp of hope, from years of toil— From Cape to Cairo, hearts aligned, Echoes of Nkrumah, voices entwined.

Recall Niger's lines, winding like the Nile, Or Kenya’s call, a marathon mile, In Ghana, where Nkrumah once boldly led, Voting became the road many fear to tread.

Yet, here, today, thirty years gained, In youthful democracies, hope remains sustained. Though the path has seen its thorns, The seeds sown by votes are forever born.

From Tunis sands to Botswana’s plains, Each tick, a tribute to those who broke chains. Echoes of Mandela, Hani’s fight, Sisulu's wisdom, a beacon in the night.

Miriam sang, "The Click Song," voices rise, Brenda's "Weekend Special," freedom’s prize. In every melody, a call to the polls, A song of the soul, uniting all roles.

Let us vote, not just as duty calls, But as guardians of halls where freedom falls. For in each cross, a voice, a choice, A chance to echo our ancestors' voice.

Let not the struggles of Sobukwe be in vain, Nor the cries for justice fall like silent rain. Each vote, a stone laid on liberty’s tower, A symbol of strength, a wielder of power.

To vote, to choose, to uplift the heart, Is the sharpest tool in democracy's art. A bridge spanning decades, from then to now, A promise kept, an enduring vow.

So come forth again, as did souls before, Who dreamt of justice on this cherished shore. Their legacy cast in each vote we cast, For as long as our voices, our democracy shall last.

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