In the heart of the township, where dust hugs the air,

A young boy named Sizwe walks barefoot with care.

The streets hum with hustle, the struggle runs deep,

Yet dreams burn within him—too restless to sleep.

Mama wakes early, pots clatter with steam,

She prays to the heavens, she clings to a dream.

Baba is gone, lost to hard times,

So Sizwe steps up, though he’s barely nine.

School shoes are torn, his uniform frayed,

But his hunger for knowledge can never be swayed.

He reads by the candle, the power cuts out,

Yet still, he believes—he silences doubt.

The township is tough, temptation is near,

Gangs whisper promises, false riches appear.

But Sizwe keeps walking, his path straight and true,

He knows that the shortcut could end him too soon.

He hustles on weekends, selling at spaza,

Counting each cent, dreaming of plaza.

He helps out his mother, he carries the weight,

But deep in his heart, he’s molding his fate.

Then one day it happens, a teacher takes note,

A spark in his mind, a vision, a quote.

“You are not bound by the chains of this place,

If you fight for your future, you’ll change your own race.”

So he studies, he grinds, through hunger and pain,

Each book is a weapon, each lesson a gain.

Matric comes, he writes, his hands shake with fear,

But he knows that his moment—his freedom—is near.

Results day arrives, and Mama’s in tears,

Distinctions, a scholarship—conquering years.

From kasi to campus, the world opens wide,

No longer just dreaming—he walks with his pride.

And though he moves forward, he never forgets,

The kids in the township with similar debts.

He builds and he teaches, he lifts as he climbs,

For poverty’s beaten—one dream at a time.