held aloft by women guerrillas,
glowing all over Accra city,
From Judi mount
is heard so close
the voice of a Kurdu lad
waiting beside the Euphrates river
in the manner of an Olive tree
for her warrior- husband who had
died in the battlefield
would not henceforth visit his tomb
I smell the fragrance of Brittilla blossoms
that have bloomed in your hearts
who, just as the Igris river
have carried along
generation after generation
the dream of freedom
and have eventually won Independence
O blood - soaked Kurdu mountains!
just as your nation
ours too would dawn one day;
flags would be swaying in our hands also.
From Trincomali mount you would hear
the voice of Eelam boy
announcing our freedom.
Holding our flag the way one would hold close the Linus flowers
we grasp so tight your shoulders _
Yours, o Mounts, who have borne our dreams
in your eyes
and our thirst in your hearts,
who eagerly await the day of our freedom.
Our freedom is so strong as the final look of a militant.
Kurdu mountains resembling guerrillas
are your companions.
You are ours.
Just as the Kurdu mountains _
so sacred is our Freedom.
translation: latha Ramakrishnan