She arose,
The sleeping lioness rose up lazily, 
As a queen rises from her throne in garments of gold,
She arose
From her long sleep of acceptance,
Her patience in pain,
All her hopes in the midst of hostility,
This wonder of womanhood stood upright, 
Ready to take on the hereafter,
All those times of being encircled with emotional baggage,
All the years of coverings that stole the stage.
The glory that this wonder possesses,
She gave and gave and lost much more,
But not today,
This time, she would rise above the crumbles,
No longer would she be the crushed but the crusher,
Cutting down all setbacks,
She is to become bullion of blessings to her time,
That quiet tunnel of echoes is to become an engaged roar of rejoicing,
Breaking free and becoming the unbecoming,
This woman has always sort out to be,
The voice that must be heard in volumes of violence,
The Winnie Mandela of her generation.
She is awake,
To claim the ends she pursues,
The retribution she seeks,
The justice she fights for,
She is ready with her fists punching the air as she says;
I rise to conqueror!