Tracing the well-head,
Why say
He fought for just the black;
Wasn’t his lessons adopted
And embraced by the whites?
An irony in a name
This Ro-lih-lah-la isn’t a troublemaker.

From him one may say:
“May my days be rough.”
Started from Mvezo
To the globe,
Staggered to hell
And strolled majestically out
Activated like a free radical.

Presidency, the first black
In the south
Front man
In a fight
Freeing the black hide
Of ancestry Africa
Nelson Mandela ! A name even the dummy speaks.

Equality! Equality! Equality
He calls us
In a chorus
Springing up anew
Patiently and prophetically
To Diops visionary
Of “Africa”: my Africa.

Looking through the window
Indeed Africa has become a widow
Mandela
“A man of the People”
Chinue Achebe would say
If death didn’t kick him
As well by the tail.

The world’s so frosty
Your name is what no man can oust,
That I boast
Down the coast
Up, east to west.
Immortality not our host
Tata really gave up the ghost.

The world weeps
Mandela is more handsome
Than a first love,
More radical than the fierce
More vibrant than the press
Tata’s larger than the whale
Mums kids unborn knows.

He is powerful
Yet more peaceful
Than the middle-east,
He has this ideas
Of such innocence
Meant forever
On a library shelf.

Tell me
What’s the essence
Life of senescence
Does it really make sense
If I say adios
When
Mandela is forever alive.