My Poems

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Poetry writer Jayram Daya from South Africa - Writers Lounge

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 My South Africa

Where the ancestors live forever

Hail Madiba for his endeavour

Dawn of freedom colours this sky.

Wake up, South Africa is my cry.

A lazy nation is a slave.

A bright future is to save.

Unity lies on this mortal soil

Rise, my people, it's time to toil. 

 

Where the Lions roar in the jungles

And the Leopards seek their prey.

Buffaloes laze in the waters,

And the rhinos mark their domains

Elephants graze the vast lands.

Trumpeting the divine call

Come to see Africa.

A land of nature's gift

 

Where gold and coal bring money

A country of milk and honey

Maize relieves hunger.

Wines evoke joy and laughter.

Gifted with seasonal fruits

Reward nature with its juice

Be blessed to till this land

South Africa has made a  brand

 

Where the two oceans meet

Embracing the Mother City

Table Mountain is elite.

Serve a vision so pretty.

Many came from the east and west.

Made history sailing by

Near an island of  contest

City of passion and beauty

 

Where freedom was taken and given

Many have sailed the seven seas.

Black and white is we

Living with predators and prey

Some stayed to live forever.

Made the culture of today

South Africans are one nation.

Proud and happy as can be

Jayram Daya

"Where the ancestors live forever"- this sacred invocation echoes the eternal pulse of African spirituality, where the past breathes through the present and the spirit world walks beside the living. Before the rise of temples and dogmas, Africans understood a deep, eternal truth: that the spirit never dies, and that the bond between the living and the departed is not broken by death. In this original spiritual science, our ancestors are not forgotten; they are revered, consulted, and honoured as guardians of wisdom and protectors of the bloodline.

Unlike modern faiths, African ancestral worship is deeply intimate and personal. Each family honours its lineage, maintaining a spiritual dialogue that flows through generations. Rituals are performed not in man-made structures, but in communion with the living world-beam trees, by rivers, upon the sacred earth, where life bears witness to the ceremony.

Here, nature is the temple, memory is the scripture, and the spirit is eternal. Africa stands alone as the cradle of this wisdom—a civilization that did not seek gods in the sky, but found them in the breath of its ancestors, in the rhythm of drumming. This is not mythology. This is memory. This is the science of spirits.